


If You Only Knew Me

by MissUnderstood



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: ???? - Freeform, Crossover, Drama, Drama & Romance, Drunk Kissing, Drunk confessions, Drunkenness, Elves, Emotional pain, Fighting, Hobbit Movie and Book based, Hurt, M/M, Minor Mention Of Character Death, Parent Thranduil, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Hobbit DOS/during Hobbit DOS, Repressed EVERYTHING, Repressed Memories, Romance, Sadness, Shapeshifter Loki, Shapeshifting, Slow Build, Work In Progress, repressed feelings, smut in later chapters maybe if i feel like it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:18:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissUnderstood/pseuds/MissUnderstood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil had never seen men like him in this part of Middle Earth, in fact, not in any part of Middle Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok guys, so I wanted to fight the ThranduilxLoki lack in this world and because I think this is the perfect pairing, I started this fanfiction to show just how much they actually have in common. I want you to let me know if you like it and whether I should continue writing it, if there are enough people who actually enjoy this pairing I would even try to write some smut in later chapters. I am very very thankful for every single feedback, good or bad. So, this is the beginning, enjoy. x  
> Rated M for later chapters. If there are mistakes, content- or grammarwise, please let me know cause unfortunately I'm neither Elf nor grammar expert thank u  
> Also, I'm including different headcanons and theories about either Thranduil or Loki that I just internalized as canon when I read them (on tumblr or in bts info or in interviews with actors or whatever) because they made sense to me - without really adding a source each time. So if there's something you don't understand or something you want a source for, ask away. I will look it up for you!

He knew it the instant the man entered.  
  
Not simply a little distraction, not something just slightly unusual , not merely a new image one sees and soaks up that very moment just to forget it a few seconds afterwards. Not a fleeting impression, nor a moment, not someone you look at without _seeing_ him.  
  
He was no line, neither was he a point, he was a painting. A collage of the most miscellaneous elements, put together carefully and matching each other perfectly, the various shades and lights contradicting yet corresponding.  
  
One look and he could read him like a book, still he feared he would never decipher all of him. Especially not when he would think himself close, there was no way, it was impossible to know each facet, to know every single mask he wore. And, not even knowing every mask, it would be even more unlikely to get to know what was behind it someday.  
  
He knew the instant the man entered that he craved to know. And there he sat, thinking about how it was possible to know so much, yet so little about a person, and about why he had let him invade his mind and take over his thoughts.  
  
He wanted to complete, to finish the picture the very moment he laid his eyes upon it, because he knew there was something missing, it was so incomplete it pained him.  
  
There he sat, remembering how it had come so far.

 

~*~

 

He instantly rose from his throne, knowing this man standing at the other end of those seemingly endless stairs did not pass his guards nonviolently - he could not remember permitting anyone to enter, at least.  
  
His expression remained unimpressed though - the incarnation of tranquility, a person of confidence, a _king_.  
  
“Who gave you permission to enter my halls?”  
  
His voice echoed through the room, the unlimited size of it lending his words both a firm and demanding tone. As he received no answer, he continued.  
  
“Answer, for you are on my ground! Who are you to invade my realm, denying speech of where you come from and your intentions?”  
  
He had never seen men like him in this part of Middle Earth, in fact, not in any part of Middle Earth. It was then that he started analyzing the slender figure standing below him; a raven haired male, tall, almost as tall as the king himself, which was rather uncommon as he was obviously not an elf, green eyes, the fair face covered in scars-  
  
High cheekbones, lips curved into a smile. It was his clothing that made his appearance so unusual; It appeared to be some kind of leather armour, both green and golden accents, a green cape. Never had the Elvenking seen any elf, dwarf or man dress like that, not in all of his thousands of years.  
  
He found himself gazing along the sharp jawline, the pale neck, the still apparent smile.  
  
“Your guards did well”, the stranger smirked, “yet not well enough. Do not blame them. It is no shame to be helplessly inferior to my powers.”  
  
Thranduil would not admit it, but hearing him talk like that caught him off guard.  
  
There was a short silence.  
  
“Possessing these _vast_ amounts of power and…these _extraordinary_ skills, I suppose I must have heard of you”, the king said derogatively, “tell me, what is that glorious man's name?”  
  
The smile fainted for a short moment and reappeared just as quickly. The stranger simply kept staring into the king's eyes, apparently not even thinking of averting his gaze just once, yet he did not move. Curiosity kept Thranduil from simply getting him arrested.  
  
“I am Loki”, he started, lowering his voice, “Loki of Asgard. You are king Thranduil, then. It is truly a pleasure to-“  
  
“Asgard, you say. How come I have never heard of it?”  
  
He paused. Gaze still fixed on the king, the smile faded again. Not even once was he shifting his weight or losing his poise, not a single time he changed his straight and proud way of standing. He kept watching, his arms hanging loosely down his sides, tilting his head just slightly, but the Elvenking would notice.  
  
A tense silence, not a single sunray dared to enlighten just the tiniest corner in the hall.  
  
“It is, I suppose, because your gaze does not reach that far.”  
  
Thranduil's eyes narrowed. Bewildered by this answer, he straightened up and crossed his arms behind his back; He tensed, slightly uncomfortable with the whole situation and trying his best to hide it. Never has anyone dared talking to him like that and he did not quite know how to handle it – surely, there have always been defiant, insolent, arrogant people, but this -  
  
It would be so simple getting him locked up inside his dungeons, buried deep down under miles of earth and stone, yet there he stood, pretentiously sharing his haughty thoughts with the king himself.  
  
It was not the words he used, nor exactly the content of what he had said so far, it was rather the way he did it. There was something about the stranger that had Thranduil staring, something in his stance that had him admiring-  
  
Admiring what? The Elvenking could not quite figure that out. Something that kept him from calling the guards and having this brazen man executed at an instant.  
  
“Enough. If there is something you need to say, something of such importance you had to defeat some of my best men for, say it. Neither am I in the mood for childish games nor have I the time. You are just the type of man that appears and thinks himself the center of attention, are you not? What have you achieved, what have you accomplished, of what significance are you to even lay your eyes upon me, king of the Woodland Realm? I demand an end of this nonsense – consider yourself a fortunate man as you are still alive”, he spoke with his voice raised, face expressionless, anger, annoyance and impatience now obviously audible.  
  
Pushing the king's patience even further, the raven haired grinned.  
  
He was amused. Thranduil was boiling.  
  
“Have you not heard me?”  
  
Unfolding his arms, it took him only a few steps to rush down the stairs, constantly quickening his pace until he stood mere inches away from him. He never broke eye contact. He stopped when he felt the stranger's flat and steady breath on his sensitive skin, originally planning to tower over him, yet he found him being on the same eye level.  
  
“Would you have me locked up if I did not obey?”  
  
“I would have you dead.”  
  
“Oh, but what a pity that would be”, the man said, tilting his head and smiling determinately, “where would be the fun in that? Death is no enemy of mine, I certainly do not dislike the idea of-“  
  
He quickly averted his gaze and fixed it on a point behind Thranduil, holding his breath, not letting his wide grin disappear though. For a short second Thranduil could feel the stranger's thoughts wander, for a short second he could feel his mind being distracted; The man, meanwhile, seemed to notice and gathered himself just as quickly as he had lost his words.  
  
“Apart from that, you would never know who I was.“  
  
“Do I want to know?”  
  
“Let us say, there are both advantages and disadvantages in knowing me.”  
  
“It takes more to convince me than a few carefully picked words.”  
  
The stranger's smile disappeared at an instant and he took a step back, stiffening.  
  
“Very well.”  
  
As soon as he had muttered those words, he pulled out a shiny piece of what looked like metal and strode out at an enormous speed, apparently attempting to throw it at Thranduil.  
  
However, the king was prepared and pulled his sword, swinging it at his opposite's hand to cut it off-  
  
His blow cut through nothing but air.  
  
If only for a few seconds, his eyes widened in shock as he watched the man right before him disappear.  
  
Gone.  
  
He could not quite believe what had just happened, so he held his breath and did not move.  
  
He tried to organize the facts he had gathered so far although it was hard for him to really concentrate, all the way in fear his mask of indifference might drop. This male, Loki, had to be physically strong; otherwise he would have never passed his guards that easily. He was good with words, he was quick, he was unpredictable and obviously he made use of magic, like or unlike elven magic he could not yet tell.  
  
He was a potential threat.  
  
Thranduil knew he had to observe Loki's behaviour further to conclude any other facts that were of use for him, had to somehow talk him into giving him more information. Maybe there were advantages in knowing this man, and Thranduil was just too curious to miss this opportunity. He was not one for being blind towards possible chances he’s given, but neither had he ever been blind towards possible dangers he was forced to face. Yet as a king, he knew how to cover up. Cover up knowledge, opinions and especially emotions, for who needs a vulnerable king?  
  
He knew too well that his, that everyone's horizon in Middle Earth was limited, that there had to be more beyond the borders of the life they learned not only to accept, but love, that there were other powers waiting to be found and to be explored. Thranduil tried not to care too much about what happened outside his own borders, which certainly did not ease the curiosity, but kept him from just leaving and searching for different kinds of powers himself.  
  
And possibly, possibly one of those powers happened to stumble across his realm and his halls that day. Never had he imagined it to have black hair and a cheeky smile.  
  
“Quite impressive”, Thranduil began slowly, “escaping a duel with trickery. I do not know what people like you are called in Asgard, but be sure that _here_ you are considered a coward. Show yourself.”  
  
He heard a light chuckle from behind him, a rush of air, soft breathing close to his sensitive ear all of a sudden.  
  
“How rude”, said the voice next to him, sweetly yet pertly while its owner slowly started reappearing.  
  
“No ‘hows’ and ‘whats’? No sounds of confusion, no surprised gasps? How very disappointing.”  
  
With a sigh, Thranduil turned to face Loki. He found a grinning face, amused eyes directly looking into his cold ones and he knew Loki was studying him just like he was studying Loki.  
  
“You’re slow”.  
  
Thranduil knew he was trying his patience and testing how far he could go before the king snapped. A fight would certainly not consist of Loki materializing into air fleeing from physical defense with each of Thranduils strikes; he knew that Loki would fight if he wanted to. There was no need to fight, however, a fight would be an unwise thing to start. As long as it was not necessary, Thranduil would not risk injuries, and because he neither knew what Loki was capable of doing, nor what he was prepared to do, he would not attack him. And, above all, he would not let simple words have any effect on him, after all he could use and understand them like no other. They were his strength and he would not let random strangers use them against him.  
  
Eventually, Loki was on his ground, at his mercy. He would not give up on that superiority.  
  
“Quit thinking yourself smart, Loki”, he began with a hint of a smile, “..of Asgard. There is nothing on you one could be stunned or even bewildered about. Magic is no particularity here, neither are you. If there is nothing you can tell me, you may take your leave of me now.”  
  
Loki blinked at that, narrowed his eyes and shifted his weight. Then he burst into a wide grin once again.  
  
“You certainly would not let me go.”  
  
“Well observed. However you could continue boring me in your cell.”  
  
With that, Thranduil averted his gaze to watch Tauriel and a few other guards hurrying up the stairs.  
  
“My Lord”, she greeted him, bowed and lowered her eyes to focus on the ground before her feet, concern and guilt clearly audible in her voice. “My Lord, my deepest apologies. We saw him coming, we attacked him, there should have been no problem for us to- we were unable to move, he was so fast, this has never happened to me before..”  
  
She paused when she noticed Loki right in front of her, obviously not attempting to harm or even kill her king. She frowned and waited for Thranduil to answer.  
  
“I want you to leave. We will have words later. Take that man with you, make sure he does not talk too much and simply concentrate on getting him locked up. I _sorely_ hope I do not ask too much of you.”  
  
He should have been furious at her for leaving him alone, for neglecting her highest duty to serve and to protect her king, so he pretended to be; He wondered why, in fact, he was not angry at her at all.  
  
He would look neither at Loki nor at her.  
  
“No, my Lord, of course you do not. I will personally make sure he is led to the dungeons directly and immediately- “  
  
“Wait.”  
  
Thranduil's lips curved into a satisfied smile as he heard Loki's voice, he did not turn to look at him though. For a short moment, there was silence.  
  
“What if I told you”, Loki started, “some more about where I come from. Some more about that invisibility trick. I know you liked it. You want answers, I have answers. It’s as simple as that.”  
  
Thranduil said nothing and again there was silence while he pretended to think about it. It truly was as simple as that.  
  
“What if I told you I was not interested? Do not pretend to know me. You know nothing but the shell, the appearance I am presenting to you.”  
  
“You are a king. And I know how kings are, indeed. You take what brings you advantage, and I certainly do.”  
  
Thranduil believed to hear a trace of sadness dripping from those last words although the smile on Lokis face obviously tried to cover it up; He simply had to know more, he could not help it.  
  
He did not speak for a few seconds, then finally his icy blue eyes searched for Loki's green ones. Originally, he wanted his glare to be intimidatingly cold, but he found himself staring at Loki rather expressionlessly.  
  
“I would like you to join the festivities tonight, then”, he found himself saying monotonously, “we will discuss your fate later. Until then.. Until then, you may spend some time in one of our cells.”  
  
With that, two of the guards grabbed Lokis shoulders and held him tight, although Loki did not try to struggle or to escape in the least. He simply kept smiling. They were still looking at each other, but Thranduil had managed to regain his emotionless facade.  
  
“I do not see a reason for your joy.”  
  
“I am still alive, aren’t I?”  
  
Thranduil gave a short wave with his hand and the guards began to move, taking Loki forcefully with them although he did not show any sign of resistance.  
  
“And Tauriel”, he said loudly, making her turn on her heels and looking at him with her eyes wide open.  
  
“Yes, my Lord..?”, she whispered almost breathlessly.  
  
“Do not worry. There was nothing any of you could have done. I would talk to you later nonetheless.”  
  
She blinked, closed her mouth, gave him a slight nod and left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 is up, and 3 is close as well.  
> again please give me a feedback. there will be some action guys but i like it slow building ok pls understand  
> they are just so much fun to write really 
> 
> enjoy x

A starless night had fallen over Mirkwood when the music began to play. Laughing and chatting Elves could be heard, clinking of dishes and singing. The palace was enlightened by thousands of lights and was pleasing to look at; huge, warm and welcoming, a place to stay and a place to be safe.  
  
Nobody would ever forget what the celebrations were about, though; they were all about forgetting what surrounded them. About chasing the darkness away by lighting every single candle, every torch and every lantern, hoping the darkness would eventually leave, letting Mirkwood return to its innocent, beautiful, _living_ form.  
  
Thranduil knew it was the most inappropriate time to feast, yet it was the only thing he could do. He did not look away. Neither did he deny. He knew the grave danger his realm was in, he knew gloom and dejection pulsated in the forests’ veins defiling its blood like the most poisonous venom. Ill misery threatened to creep into every corner, every gap still untouched; the sun had fled long ago, taking with her all warmth, comfort and blossom.  
  
What was he supposed to do? His people were loyal, they trusted him enough to stay. He wanted them to enjoy their lives just as he once used to.  
  
In moments of weakness, he would remember images of green. Silvery white flashes as he stood near the glistening lake, the reflection of the sun on its surface briefly putting his eyes into a state of delightful blindness. And the wind, it would carry the scent of rare flowers flourishing in spring, the scent of wood and warmth in summer, colourful leaves and rain in autumn, snowflakes and the scent of fire in winter, and Thranduil would stand by the lake and take it all in.  
  
Nostalgia sought him at times, yet he would not always let it find him; he knew what pained should not be dwelled upon.  
  
The forest had changed and so had he.  
  
That night, his halls were crowded. Elves, Sindarin and Silvan, young and old, stood, talked, danced, ate or drunk, nobody wasted a single thought on melancholy or fear. It was a night as cheerful as it was peaceful, quiet and loud at the same time. They all got together on nights like these, telling stories and tales about adventures they were part of once, anecdotes about their everyday lives, rumors true or false, there were always things that wished to be talked about.  
  
It seemed they were talking and laughing the devouring shadows away, which was becoming more and more complicated since by descending on every tree, flower and herb, these shadows became one with the environment the people in Mirkwood loved so dearly.  
  
If they were not able to cure it, they would at least try to ease the pain.  
  
In between the swinging and spinning Elves sat Thranduil, absent mindedly watching the slowly swaying crowd and only half-heartedly following the conversation he rather unintentionally joined minutes before. Topics he was not allowed to be tired of, people he was supposed to show his gratitude to, indispensable responsibilities he was obliged to perceive, it was all part of his purpose yet sometimes he could not bring himself to fully, passionately dedicate himself to it.  
  
Sometimes he wondered whether it had always been like that or whether time had left its marks on him- he had always thought himself invulnerable when it came to time.  
  
Only listening with one ear, Thranduil searched the crowd. When he found what he was looking for, the slightest smile crossed his lips.  
  
Legolas was obviously not interested in the Elven maid that was talking to him insistently. Her eyes shone with passion and fondness and Thranduil could feel the warmth and excitement she gave off, could literally sense her nervousness even though hundreds of Elves separated them, could hear her tense giggle and the constant flapping of her eyelashes, and he pitied her.  
  
He knew his son would never impolitely tell her what he thought, Legolas would stay and attentively follow each of her words and he would not leave until those words were spent.  
  
He knew it because he had taught him. In moments like these, he recognized himself, and pride filled his heart because he would not have it any other way.  
  
His trail of thought was interrupted when he noticed the guards entering. The huge, wooden doors flung open and he saw the group of helmets moving toward him, all unity and order, making their way through the bulk of people at constant speed. He saw Tauriel leading them and in their middle he spotted a rush of black and green.  
  
He excused himself from the conversation of which he had lost the thread long ago and got up, not moving an inch from where he stood.  
  
“My Lord”, Tauriel greeted him with a quick bow. “We brought the prisoner, as you demanded.”  
  
Thranduil frowned.  
  
“Without further incidents?”  
  
“He behaved surprisingly well, my Lord. He uttered what appeared to be some kinds of spells while he was in his cell and occasionally caused some small flames and sparks, but apart from that..”  
  
She stopped and quickly glanced back at Loki, whose gaze was fixed on a point somewhere in the crowd. She lowered her voice, although Thranduil doubted Loki could hear any of the words they exchanged.  
  
“He was clearly frustrated when nothing of it seemed to work. He was so focused that he hardly noticed us watching. I suppose the magic he hoped to make use of was blocked by.. I do not know what, my Lord.”  
  
Thranduil nodded, not showing that his mind was trying to make sense of it.  
  
“Anything else?”  
  
“We ignored anything he said, just as you wished. He talked quite a lot.”  
  
“Good. You can leave him to me now.”  
  
Tauriel bowed again and turned around, taking the guards with her. When they left, Loki was revealed, his hands in chains and his stare directed at Thranduil. He grinned widely.  
  
Indifferently, Thranduil stared back before he left, making Loki follow him without further explanation.  
  
He led him to a small ledge, not completely detached from the feast but a lot quieter and less crowded. A small brook rippled a few feet below them, harps were playing in the distance, but apart from that there was no sound to be heard. The peace outside the hall conflicted with Thranduils agitated mind.  
  
When he came to stand, he did not turn around.  
  
“You tried to escape.”  
  
“You knew I would.”  
  
“Of course I knew you would”, he irritably shot back, “I want you to tell me why you are still here, then.”  
  
Loki did not answer immediately, Thranduil could hear him thinking.  
  
“You see.. “, he began, “I am not quite sure how I got here in the first place. To leave, it would be of great help to know where exactly my journey took me, so-“  
  
“You are telling me”, Thranduil interrupted, his tone threateningly low, “you come from a place called Asgard, you neither know where you are nor how you got here, yet you invade my halls attacking my guards and, above all, make use of a right you do not have - you talk, defiantly, arrogantly about what you think without anyone having asked for it.”  
  
“You just asked me to tell you why I’m here.”  
  
The kings patience turned out to be not as long-lasting as he had believed it to be. He spun around, taking a quick step into Lokis direction until the only thing separating their faces was a thin layer of air.  
  
“I am not quite sure if you at all understand how things are handled here”, he hissed, his voice no more than a whisper, “let me sum it up for you. I am the ruler of this realm and of the people here. The ground you are standing on belongs to me. The air you are breathing this very second, the sounds you hear, the whispering wind, every single drop of water, the smell of leaves, the grass, the dirt, it is all part of what I possess, you were beneath me the moment you entered my realm and you still are. I neither know who you are nor what you are capable of, I do not know what you are prepared to do, and that makes you my prisoner. Do not dare taking me for a fool! You think yourself superior in too many ways, I can feel it, I can literally see self-conviction dripping from each of your pores, but I see weaknesses and do not think I will not make use of them. I know there are more and I will find every single one for I can see parts of you hidden to ordinary eyes.”  
  
There was no change in Lokis expression. He kept staring at the furious king in front of him.  
  
“Prove it.”  
  
Thranduil smoothly straightened and turned away again.  
  
“It has gotten quite cold, has it not?”  
  
Loki did not respond and there was a tense silence.  
  
“It must be your body heat. I found you hardly possess any. You are as cold as ice, in fact”, Thranduil continued, crossing his arms behind his back, “it does not seem overly natural to me. If you, like me, know the right ways, you can see very clearly how this might turn out to be a weakness.”  
  
When he turned around again, he noticed a change.  
  
The neutral expression was replaced by a small frown, there was an obvious tension, most likely resulting from putting great effort into suppressing something. There was not even a hint of the smile from before, the arrogance had left his slightly widened eyes.  
  
To the common eye, these changes were barely noticeable, to the Elvenkings eye however, they were obvious.  
  
Thranduil would usually never go as far as torturing information out of this man, as the Elves were known to be very peaceful and discreet beings, but he was unsure about how to proceed. He could be anything, anyone, after all- a spy serving Sauron, an assassin, a thief, and if that was the case, there was no mercy left for him in this kingdom.  
  
The reaction he got from Loki was what he had hoped for, however. The raven haired blinked twice and cleared his throat.  
  
“I was not lying”, he began, watching Thranduil intensely, “when I said I was from Asgard. As I said, I suppose you have not heard of it because you know not about other realms. Other worlds. It is the only explanation I have. I can travel between these realms, there are paths, revealed or hidden. This world, this planet we are currently on, was unknown to me until I stumbled across it by accident. I did not plan to end up here, in, as you called it, Mirkwood. I did not harm anyone so far, your guards are merrily alive. I merely paralyzed them when I arrived for I feared they would not let me pass without endless explanations.”  
  
“It is not only their right but their _task_.”  
  
“I did not harm you, and I am admittedly not planning to. I am unarmed. My illusions are the only thing I seem to have left..”  
  
He spread his fingers arousing a small, green flame on his palm and gazed at it. Thranduil believed to _see_ Loki that very moment. There was more unhappiness and hurt to him than he would voluntarily reveal. Never would Thranduil call himself outstanding in empathizing with others, yet with Loki it was different. There was a familiarity he could not explain and although he wished it otherwise, he felt like the usually very apparent distance between strangers was missing.  
  
The distrust, however, was not.  
  
When Loki closed his hand to a fist, he looked up again, the reflection of the green glimmer disappearing from his eyes.  
  
Thranduil carefully followed each of his actions.  
  
“Where exactly did you.. land?”  
  
“On a tree in the middle of this forest. A cobweb caught me. The beasts are truly imposing..”  
  
“So you fought them.”  
  
Loki smiled and the next moment, he was gone. Only his voice remained.  
  
“I could not have fought them unarmed and my strength would not have sufficed to paralyze them all.”  
  
“Spineless and dishonorable, I must say”, Thranduil replied and his lips unwillingly curved into an honest smile.  
  
When Loki reappeared, he was grinning as well.  
  
Thranduil knew he would have been able to escape a hundred times in the past minutes alone, yet he had not even tried. For a moment, he simply wanted to believe all of it and put aside every doubt. Naivety was not part of his nature, though, and questioning had become a habit, a naturalness over the past years. He was used to being lied to, being decieved, betrayed, everything leaving him disappointed, and his long life and experience had made him resistant. He was so used to everything, used to life, that everything new easily piqued his curiosity.  
  
“Usually”, Loki said while smiling mischievously, “I can do a lot more than that. But it seems I lost a great amount of my powers while I.. travelled. Those I have left are rather useless.”  
  
He looked down at the ground and Thranduil knew it troubled him. He saw him biting his lower lip and a strand of black hair falling into his face. He looked like innocence personified.  
  
But the king knew better than to give in- he decided to give him information he could only put to use when he indeed was from another world.  
  
“You are in Middle Earth, that is to say in Mirkwood, a vast forest in Rhovanion, inhabited by Elves, once known as Greenwood the Great. You chose a dreary time to arrive. A shadow lays upon my realm, threatening to spread further, the shadow of Dol Guldur. The spiders, the hallucinogenic gases, it is all part of it.”  
  
He paused, averting his gaze just slightly so he could fix it on a point somewhere in the distance.  
  
“I will not tell you more about it.”  
  
Loki remained silent. He watched Thranduil, obviously interested.  
  
“You are an Elf. What else is there?”  
  
He briefly considered explaining but decided against it.  
  
“The talking tires me. You may read about Elven history and inhabitants of Middle Earth in my library as much as you like. Under observation, obviously.”  
  
When the king started to move back towards the entrance they came from, he gestured the guards to take care of his visitor again.  
  
“So I will get other accommodation than my cell?”  
  
“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i thought i might add the post that shaped and inspired loki's behaviour in this chapter because i just noticed i haven't really explained it. it's here: http://trickster-laufeyson.tumblr.com/post/48716631876/lackluster-lexicon-g-slash-hey-guys-heat and it's about loki being tortured by the chitauri with heat after he fell in the first movie. it's super interesting and you should read it because the chapter makes a bit more sense then


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Loki did not quite know what held him. Sure, he mainly stayed because he had no idea how to leave; Most of his useful powers gone, not knowing where exactly he was, there was hardly anything he could do. He did not know all of the forest’s extent, did not know what else hid in there only waiting for him to walk right into its trap; Even if he would, somehow, manage to survive and find a way out of these woods, he would not know how to proceed then. He simply didn’t know enough.  
  
So basically, doing some research on the history of this place in the king’s library was an idea very worth considering.  
  
Yet the hopelessness of his situation was not the only thing keeping him from escaping.  
  
The more he thought about it, the less sense it made to him; There he was, thrown out of his Asgardian cell right into another, desperately working on finding out why Odin had banished him there, exactly there, of all places. Loki was not sure whether he even knew where he had sent him in his rage. He sure had some theories; The one that appeared most likely to him was that Odin had stripped him of all his harmful powers and left him with only those he would need to survive, that he deliberately cast him to a place that was in need of help so he would eventually get the chance to make up for the havoc he caused on Midgard, that he would not let him return until he saw reason, that he was watching him and only waiting for him to give in, that his stay was some sort of poor, disgustingly simple-minded _therapy_.  
  
The thought of it alone made his pulse quicken and his anger grow. He jumped up from his stone seat and impatiently walked up and down his cell like the caged animal he was.  
  
Revulsion and loathe filled his mind. How dare he, thinking the boy he hypocritically raised as his own son, the god of mischief, would not see through this and blindly, naively be part of this sick play, how dare he thinking it would show any effect on him! How could he possibly be that _misguided_ to even _think_ of making a fool out of him?  
  
Loki almost pitied him and his folly, had nothing left for him but a contemptuous, false smirk.  
  
He sat down again.  
  
He knew this was not the only possible option. He could not recall ever having heard Odin talk about this place, had never read about it in any book. He considered that Odin did not intend to send him there.  
  
That a shift of paths, an energetic interference, an _accident_ was the cause of his situation.  
  
It was rather unlikely, yet it was possible, and as hard as Loki tried, he could not push that option to the back of his mind.  
  
He was not escaping because he would never let Odin know it bothered him, even if it did.  
  
And that as well was his conflict. It should bother him, but it did not.  
  
Being tired of his cell in Asgard and the wish for a change in surrounding and faces he was forced to look at every day were reasons for his little complaining, yes, but that was not all there was to it.  
  
He felt there was something just slightly wrong. The urge to cause trouble, to mess things up, to lie, to prank, it was reduced to half-heartedly snappy comments and foolish smiles.  
  
Loki knew that even if there _were_ things he could mess up or lie about, he would not be overly tempted to take the chance, and he was craving to know why.  
  
The Elvenking had to be the answer, for never had anyone in his entire life impressed him as much as this man had in just a day. Loki found himself captivated. Captivated by his confidence, his pride, his eloquence, his wits, and above all, his fierceness.  
  
He would never confess - was even wondering why he was able to confess it to himself - but they were so immensely on equal terms that he could hardly believe it was real.  
  
He was arrogant and proud and Loki admired it. They had met the day before, he had imprisoned him instantly and Loki admired him still. After all he had been through, he had become tired, dully and hollowly so, and there was hardly anything able to earnestly cause a stir of interest in him, which was also why Thranduil had earned his respect so rapidly.  
  
So instead of tricking his way out, he lingered to see what more there was he could learn. His excitement was mostly for the books he had been offered to read; He hoped them to be different from the literature he was handed in his Asgardian cell, absolutely, unexceptionally, completely different even, because as much as he loved to read, the content of those books would repeat itself over the course of time and he was not proud of being able to recite passages, sometimes pages.  
  
He would simply have to wait. He would not make it easy for Odin and the rest of his pitiable realm to enjoy the show, he had hid from their gaze before and he would do it again. And even if they found a way to watch he would do anything but act the way he knew they wished him to. Odin would regret sending him there. Would Loki ever return, if just to see the magnificent disappointment in his eyes, he would wish to see him shake his head and search for words to utter, while he himself would savour every second of it.

 

~*~

 

As much as Loki had fought the sleep, eventually it had washed over him only to let him spend the night huddled up uncomfortably on the stone carven floor. A slumber so deep there was not even time to dream. Only did he notice how much the banishment and the recent events had exhausted him when he felt immensely refreshed and restored as he woke the next morning. He also noticed he had not slept that peaceful in months.  
  
Lifting himself up, he felt that the persistent headache from the days before had vanished, now seeming to have wandered down to his back. It was nothing he was not able to endure, though.  
  
He knew pain. It slightly shamed him that he had shown the Elvenking so easily, that he had so easily exposed to him just how weak he was.  
  
He wanted to believe it, wanted to just rely on the fact that the king was obviously bluffing, but he found he could not. The Chitauri found out. Why wouldn’t he?  
  
Sometimes he would still feel the unbearably agonizing heat upon his skin. He knew that, if any of them had survived, he would be better off dead. There was nothing that haunted him as much as those memories did, and he doubted there would ever be.  
  
The rustling of keys caught his attention.  
  
Pale fingers, copper hair and hazel eyes stood on the other side of the bars, attentively and observingly inspecting him while opening the cell.

Skepticism and distrust were printed on the fair features, yet nothing was said.  
  
“So finally, you do come to my rescue. Oh, how impatiently I waited! You surely know how to increase suspense, lovely, very lovely. The way you look at me, so desperate for my attention and my affection, just how could you resist those looks? That charm-“  
  
“Do not tempt me, prisoner”, Tauriel interrupted, “because really, I can hardly resist those looks. They do stir the urge inside of me to make you bitterly regret coming to these halls instead of simply falling prey to the spiders. It is quite a pleasant death.. Hardly any suffering, their venom numbs your limbs. Your consciousness, however..”  
  
She put aside the keys and the bars opened with a creek, as soon as that was done she stepped inside and pulled Loki to his feet so rapidly that he would not have been able to fight it even if he had wanted to. The Elf smiled contentedly when she saw the bewildered look on his face.  
  
“..stays.”  
  
Loki hummed, then challengingly smirked at her but did not say a word. Rolling her eyes at that, she put on his chains again and pulled him out of his cell. Outside, she urged him forward and he could feel a blade being settled at the small of his back.  
  
They did not talk for a long while, walking down bridges and paths, climbing stairs and passing small caves, but being Loki, he soon felt obliged to break the silence although he had been told at any rate not to.  
  
“Might I ask, fair Lady-“  
  
“No.”  
  
“Just where are you abducting me to? If not to my rightful liberty.”  
  
“I said no talking.”  
  
He felt the blade pushing more insistently from behind.  
  
Then an idea crossed his mind. He silently stopped in his tracks.  
  
“Keep moving! I sharpened this blade just hours a-“  
  
She paused, holding her breath as she saw the man in front of her starting to disappear in a green gleam. She blinked, again, and then she saw him.  
  
Her eyes widened when she noticed Loki was no longer in front of her, instead there stood a lithe, male, blonde Elf in red and golden robes. Taller than Tauriel herself, he turned around in a slow, graceful motion, directing his stern, icy-blue eyes at her. He lifted his chin and frowned, looking down at her derogatively, almost disgustedly, his gown taking in intimidatingly much space.  
  
The king himself stood in front of her and she could not believe her eyes.  
  
Tauriel watched him taking a step in her direction and felt his cold and expressionless glare upon her as he came to tower over her. She stood still, did not even dare breathing when he approached her further, bending down so that their faces were less than a hairs breadth apart.  
  
“You will not harm this man nor will you deny him his well-deserved freedom!”, he exclaimed and his raised, menacing voice sent chills down her spine.  
  
It was all deceptively real. The appearance, the voice, the frigid look.  
  
Only when he grinned she knew Loki was playing a trick on her.  
  
“Remove it”, Tauriel hissed, “it is highly disrespectful. I will not let you offend the king, and I will certainly not let you offend me. Remove it immediately.”  
  
When he returned to his normal form without complaining, he smiled at her, obviously amused.  
  
“I would not _dare_.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so guys, i know i said the next chapters would be longer but i somehow ended up jumping between the povs and now there is no other way but to split up.. so the next two chapters will be minichapters i originally intended to post as one. i hope u understand my inner struggle

After a silent and tense while of walking, they came to stop at a huge, wooden door. Thin lines were carved into it, fine and accurate patterns like the trees so high and gracefully curved, some spots covered in moss, others in buds, long, delicate branches running down its sides and swinging in the mild wind like anemones in the stirring water.   
  
There was a calmness to this place, a tranquility Loki knew could only be found in few places.   
  
Tauriel spoke some words in a language Loki didn’t understand and the huge door opened soundlessly.   
  
He had heard some of the guards talk in that language earlier, but had found that he could not decipher a single word. Knowing and even fluently speaking quite a few languages, he was usually at least able to derive parts from other forms of expression, and the fact that he would have to interpret the content of their conversations from their gestures and facial expressions left him feeling quite uneasy.   
  
When the doors halted, the room behind them was revealed.   
  
Well, ‘room’ was not exactly a fitting description of what Loki was given the chance to gaze at – he had to lift his head to fully take in the sight of what was presented to him.   
  
Halls wider and loftier than any memorial hall or ballroom in Asgard, yet except for the endlessly long, tortuous paths on the ground there was not much free space; colossal shelves soared up like mammoth trees, to the north, to the east, to the west, not seeming to come to an end at either side.   
  
Amber lamps enlightened each shelf, exposing every section being not only filled, but _stuffed_ with books of every colour, width and shape.   
  
It took Loki a second to notice he had stopped breathing at some point so he took a deep breath.  
  
The smell of the library resembled one of a forest in autumn rather than one of an actual library – the scent of leaves and wood filled the air, it felt clean and crisp, chilly almost. Silence flooded Lokis ears, took over his senses and for a split second every thought left his mind. Paralyzed, he stood at the entrance as if being rooted, lips slightly parted in astonishment.   
  
His eyes darted from shelf to shelf and he burst into a pleased grin.   
  
“This is.. slightly more than expected..”, he laughed, trying to adjust his breathing to not give away too much of his actual amazement. When he turned his head to look at Tauriel, he found the excitement was rather one sided. Her eyes scanned him disinterestedly, yet warily. The look she gave him then told him just how impatient and exasperated she was and he could feel her dissatisfaction with that task she was obviously given, and as hard as she tried to appear indifferent, Loki saw she disliked him – very much so, it seemed. He couldn’t help but find it entertaining.   
  
“You are watching over me for today, then”, he smiled, “I do feel earnestly honoured. Is that how prisoners are treated here? A shame I did not break in earlier..”   
  
A sigh escaped her lips and Loki could see that she was struggling to control herself.   
  
“I am not.. in the position to question the king’s decisions. He wished me to bring you here and I did, so _please_ go ahead and do whatever we came here for.”  
  
She crossed her arms, the blade still in her right hand. When she noticed Loki observing it, she lifted her brows and tilted her head.   
  
“Don’t worry, I will use that. I’m not very patient. And I think you heard me.”  
  
She unfolded her arms and urged Loki to go, poking his side with the blade not too lightly. He smiled at her, untouched, and opened his mouth to say something, then decided against it and turned around, attempting to rather focus on what he originally intended to do. It would take him some time, but he knew too well that there was hardly anything he could do but this, that he would even prefer chopping trees or cleaning weapons, really doing _anything_ but returning to his cell.   
  
He hurried through several passages, sometimes stopped and intensely studied various spines and covers, every now and then climbing up tall wooden stairs to reach the shelves he believed to contain useful books.   
  
Never did he feel the Elf avert her gaze though, always knew she was following him, soft-footed and noiseless, and if he wouldn’t have known of her presence from the start he would have thought her to be following him clandestinely. Like the wind she was never really there, never really audible or visible, if it had not been for her glare; her eyes constantly pierced his back like arrows, followed every single move of his and never seemed to tire.  
  
When he had gathered every book he thought he might need a few hours later, he sat down at a small table and placed the pile carefully in front of him. He reached out for the first book he would read; a thick, heavy one with a red cover, framed by narrow, golden lines. Wiping away a thin layer of dust, Loki revealed the lettering _‘Elven Tales’_ on its front, paused for a short moment and then continued to open it. The pages felt rough and porous between his fingers so he treated them with great caution, treated them almost like he would treat a vivid being.   
  
There was nothing but the sound of the turning pages. It was near the way Loki liked it best; he sure could have done without that unforgiving stare from behind, but he would not complain.   
  
He soaked up the information like a sponge, was so deeply into it that he was not even oblivious to Tauriel impatiently tapping her foot, blanking out everything not the flitting letters in front of him.

He sat and read the rest of the day, until he was brusquely told to return to the dungeons.


	5. Chapter 5

Weeks had passed and it had not ceased.  
  
Locking him away even longer was obviously no efficient solution. He had thought it to be like it would always be with anything and anyone else – a brief moment of interest, the misbelief to have found something worth spending a second thought on, subsequent lack of interest. It was not. He was thinking about their conversation still, letting his words rush through his mind over and over again, was still thinking about the battle of arrogance and self-hatred he believed to have seen in his eyes.   
  
Prowling up and down in front of his throne, he wondered what had gotten into him all of a sudden. He gravely considered that the sickness of the forest had befallen his mind, but there was no one but him feeling unwell.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted when he saw Legolas hurrying up the stairway.  
  
“Father”, he greeted him.  
  
Thranduil simply glared at him, suddenly not too fond of the idea of having a conversation. Legolas looked exhausted though, worn-out even, and the concern for his son was always stronger than his own odd quirks and moods.  
  
“Has the number of spiders decreased?”  
  
Legolas looked at him with an expression Thranduil could not quite read. Sometimes he did not even intend to be harsh.  
  
“..Are you hurt?”  
  
Legolas blinked and his face lightened up a bit, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.  
  
“No, Ada.”  
  
Thranduil attempted to answer him, but his son continued.  
  
“No in both cases. I fear it is quite the opposite. They are breeding, we cannot find all of their nests as quickly as they build new ones, there are just too many, it appears their numbers grow each time we set out to hunt them down-“  
  
He stopped when he found that his father was no longer listening. His gaze was empty, his thoughts somewhere else entirely and his attention followed suit.  
  
“Father, I decided to live a life outside this realm, to pass the woods and lead the miserable life of a homeless thief, selling some of your jewelry and my hair to somehow fill my empty stomach.”  
  
“Yes.. Very well, my son..”, he mumbled, not stirring an inch.  
  
“You despise not being listened to and so do I.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You changed, Ada, you- just what is it that haunts you? You seem restless. You do not pay attention. You are _anywhere_ but where you should be, your body is present but your mind keeps wandering. Forgive me my worries”, Legolas said, “but I fear for this realm. The people need you. I-“  
  
“There is nothing to worry about”, Thranduil interrupted monotonously, “Your concern is in vain. I feel a bit tired as of late, that is all.”  
  
Legolas would have been satisfied with really _any_ reaction. He would have accepted a mournful father, a furious father, an annoyed father, but the emptiness in his voice was something he could not bear. The dullness and the indifference of his father did not only scare, but pain him, and he was running out of options on how to approach this topic. On how to approach his own father.  
  
Thranduil noticed.  
  
He knew that Legolas was struggling to take care of him and that worry and anxiety filled his heart, and he knew best that he himself was the cause. It was clear in his mind that his son was suffering and that his concern would, sooner or later, make him sick, yet he found he could not bring himself to _tell_ Legolas just how helpless and incapable their whole situation had left him.  
  
He was aware that he was the only one Legolas had left, that all they had was each other, and that, if he would just be willing enough, they could face anything and anyone, but he felt himself fading, small bits of strength and willpower escaping him with every breath he took, and he could simply not withstand letting his son know.  
  
He saw his own reflection in Legolas’ azure eyes, solidly directed at him all the while, and he knew he was nothing of the father and the king he was supposed to be.  
  
“Who is that man down in our dungeons?”  
  
It was an entitled question Thranduil had oddly not expected him to ask.  
  
He didn’t reply at first, only staring back at Legolas. Then he looked away, thinking on how to best answer that question without letting show that he really did not know it himself.  
  
“He is not from here. He intruded without my allowance, however I do not consider him too dangerous. He says he comes from another world, a place called Asgard..”  
  
He paused and watched Legolas frowning and tilting his head.  
  
“..He is insane, obviously. Yet, he.. He has not hurt anyone so far, and I doubt he will. I ordered Tauriel to not only have an eye on him, but to _never_ leave him unattended, and as far as I know, he will not escape. He can’t. I think he knows just how unwise it would be.”  
  
Had he just tried to extenuate that stranger’s misdeeds?  
  
The prince blinked. Something flashed up in his eyes but Thranduil could not tell whether it was suspicion, mistrust or reluctance, it became clear to him, however, that the idea of having a man like Loki sitting around somewhere in these halls did not exactly appeal to him.  
  
“He is no one to be trusted. He twists your words and tries to talk you into things that might turn out to be advantageous for him, he is straining to talk to..”  
  
“You talked to him?”  
  
Legolas remained silent but Thranduil knew from the look he wore that he indeed had talked to Loki.  
  
“I do not wish you to speak to him. I know very well of his readiness of speech and his eloquence and I know even better of how hazardous it might be. Do not worry, my trust is not earned easily, and I think yours is neither. Nonetheless, from now on you will stay away from this cell, you will not even look in its direction, am I clear?”  
  
Silence spread once again and hung thickly between them, the intensity of their eye contact almost cutting the air as they appeared to continue their conversation on a mental level. Pressing his lips firmly together, Legolas took a small step back. With his voice lowered, he then uttered a quiet ‘yes’ and turned to leave.  
  
Contrary to his true wanting, Thranduil did not ask him to stay a little longer.


	6. Chapter 6

“It sure is nice to see you again”, Loki coaxed dishonestly when he saw Tauriel opening his little cave the day after.“Yesterday was great, we had a lovely time, but, you see, I just don’t think this will work out.”  
  
“Get on your feet. The king requires your presence.”  
  
“How very thrilling.”  
  
He faked disinterest by rolling his eyes while lifting himself up, while in reality there were loads of things rushing through his mind that Thranduil would require his presence for and his curiosity was, at that point, piqued beyond measure.  
  
He followed her closely, all along feverishly considering every possible option. Once in a while he let his gaze roam over the widths of the halls, letting their greatness and complexity overwhelm him if just momentarily. The light they shone in was not natural and pure, like it was in Asgard, yet it was no less warm and no less beautiful. In the distance he saw tree trunks shooting up elegantly like columns, small waterfalls dabbling down stony walls and he briefly wondered why he was feeling so _belonging_ when all he was there was a prisoner - and really anything but welcome.  
  
He allowed himself to take it in, to remember things he had frantically tried to repress until that very day.  
  
The earthy smell and taste whilst being pressed to the ground was something he had never gotten used to when he was younger, despite experiencing it every day should have probably made it some kind of habit to him. The dim light and the damp warmth that clung to the air during another night spent in one of those noisy, choppy taverns, the chirping of birds and the tedious shout of the forest while being on a hunt for days due to a single, pleading smile and the tilt of a blonde, stubborn head.  
  
Loki could not deny that there had been a time he would have done anything for Thor.  
  
A time in which he had endured, really had joined in any activity his older brother had had in mind, whether he approved of it or not was inconsequential for both himself and Thor.  
  
That boy would look at him, nothing like Loki in almost every aspect, yet with such a familiarity and so much love and affection and warmth that it would seem impossible to reject him; so childlike and naive it was amusing and saddening at the same time and there was nothing one could do but to give in to it.  
  
For a few seconds he was thrown back into that time, brought to mind pictures he had thought to have mouldered long ago and immediately remembered the reason for their banishment;  
He felt nausea churning his insides and rage heating his chest as he attempted to push the images back to where they came from, all along abandoning each and every sentiment of sorrow, replacing it with frustration about his own weakness. Never would he lower himself like that, let alone become so dependent and controllable again, for it was certainly the gravest mistake he had ever done in his entire, long life.  
  
Sometimes, his existence really was no more than this- the struggle not to care, to hold back and to lie to everyone including himself and sometimes he feared that this was all there was to him, that self-hatred had become his very core and that sarcasm was his sole medicine.  
  
When the memories came, they brought thoughts of how it could have been and Loki loathed it.  
  
By the time he had gathered himself, they had almost reached their destination. After some staircase-climbing and bridge-crossing Loki had only distantly and absent-mindedly participated in, the throne came into sight, and on it casually sitting the Elvenking.  
  
Tauriel stopped in her tracks all of a sudden and Loki tilted his head to search for the cause of their delay.  
  
He found a face he had seen before and smiled when he recalled talking to it earlier. Legolas was very likely not mutually delighted about their encounter, he decided, however, he could really not care less.  
  
That boy was so eager to find out what he was up to, he could sense it, and he just had too much fun leaving him in the dark about it. He could not imagine Legolas’ father having approved of their little conversation either, which was even more thrilling- they differed so immensely, Loki found, Thranduil so wise and experienced and his son so innocent and overzealous that if their age difference barely showed in appearance, it very well did in expression.  
  
Tauriel and Legolas exchanged a few words and Loki could do nothing but wait impatiently.  
  
The walk had probably taken them longer than it had occurred to Loki and he regretfully wondered what parts of the path he had missed in his mental absence. Since he knew as good as nothing about the place he was in, it could have doubtlessly been helpful to memorize every detail possible.

Yet there was no time to be vexed about it- the two Elves finished their conversation just as quickly as they had started it and they soon picked up pace again. When Legolas walked past them, his eyes locked with Loki's.  
  
Loki knew the prince had at least tried to keep his eyes straight forward, but also had he known from the start that he would fail. He felt subtle frustration in Legolas’ stare, about Loki as well as about his own inability to resist, and a mistrust even more vigorous than the one he found in Tauriel's eyes each time she would look at him.  
  
A broad, unreadable grin eventually forced Legolas to avert his gaze again and keep on walking until he was out of sight. There had to be something to that facial expression of his that the people in this place evidently disliked, it appeared to make them feel uncomfortable- just a reason more for Loki to use it from time to time.  
  
“Concentrate”, came the harsh command from ahead, and he obeyed. Concentration was exactly what he needed and admittedly lacked.  
  
They strode up the stairs Loki remembered from the day he had arrived and sudden agitation grasped him.  
  
Thranduil did not get up from his seated position, looking down at him like someone would look at dying weed, desperately trying to reach the sunlight in its struggle to escape its doom - to forever crawl and creep in the shadows.  
  
His features plainly laid bare his mood and Loki suddenly wished he would not have followed Tauriel there in the first place.  
  
The king was not well tempered and it felt like the entire hall was soaked in his discontent.  
  
A captivating aura only beings of his rank possessed; moods and emotions so intense, which, if ever displayed, would crash down on everybody beneath like a huge, unpredictable wave.  
  
“My king-“  
  
“Yes I see. You may depart.”  
  
She bowed swiftly, her expression not changing the slightest bit, and left.  
  
Like she was perfectly content with the way she had just been talked to, like this was the way she was talked to everyday.  
  
Loki found it didn’t suit her.  
  
He tried to stand straight under Thranduils unforgiving glare and decided to take this slow, yet without deviating from the image he had offered the king of himself so far.  
  
“Your majesty desired to see me?”  
  
He earned a stare even more piercing and a pair of lifted eyebrows instead of an immediate reply.  
  
Although he had earnestly tried to let this sound neutral, he had apparently failed at that.  
  
Loki was surprised to see Thranduils features soften all of a sudden.  
  
“I wish to take you on a walk.”

   


~*~

   


The air was scarcely any better outside.  
  
Not even the scent differed too much; Leaves, wood, nothing Loki had not already gotten used to, yet there was a trace of a scent he could not quite identify. It caused him a slight headache each time he inhaled a bit too deeply and to him it resembled most the smell of decay, though he would not bet on that.  
  
He was sure that he smelt it because it was what he saw.  
  
He had seen the forest, he had, in fact, almost been devoured by it, yet the sight of it would most likely never leave him unaffected. The forest looked like death itself to him, the incarnation of evanescence, sick and hazardous.  
  
Being accustomed to the black branches and the lack of light Thranduil simply went ahead, not hesitatingly but leisurely, and gestured Loki to walk next to him with a slight tilt of his head.  
  
They strode in silence for a while and Loki occasionally turned his head to make sure the king was still present, because the idea of being left alone especially there was not overly appealing to him.  
  
Like a shadow the Elf seemed to float next to him, neither breath nor steps really audible, looking as if he was barely paying attention, looking lifeless. He looked like he belonged nowhere but into this forest.  
  
They came to stop at a small clearing, whereas ‘clearing’ seemed a rather unfitting expression to Loki; there were less trees at that spot, however there was no more light than elsewhere in those woods and the air was just as thick.  
  
“So, is this the point where you get rid of me?”, he said jokingly but earned not even a hint of a smile.  
  
“I thought I would never grow tired of life”, Thranduil uttered, “yet I fear, circumstances have left me exhausted. Look around and tell me what you see. Is it not a diseased, rotting forest you see? Something once known for its divine vitality that now is nothing but a foul and shady death-trap? Yet you see not all that I see when I let my gaze roam, all you see is the wretched misery it is, you are looking at something not of your concern. I, however, am looking not only at my responsibilities and the realm I rule, but at my home, I am looking at the very place I am bound to, the place I raised my son in, the place I will probably spend the rest of my days in.”  
  
Loki remained silent when the king met his gaze with a sudden intensity he would not have expected. His eyes contained too many things all at once, despair, hurt and anger the most obvious and Loki wondered what had caused the abrupt change of mind to, after all, tell him some more about himself and this place, although he probably knew the answer already.  
  
Responsiveness was, most likely, Thranduil's only choice. Antagonizing a stranger he obviously didn’t exactly consider a sworn enemy would take unnecessary amounts of strength he needed in other areas and since he was drained and irritated already, he would have to spare energy in all places possible.  
  
Loki stared at the pale face, found the pair of eyes reddened and brows frowned like having turned into stone. He felt the urge to react but could not think of anything appropriate to say.  
  
Thranduil then broke the silence he had induced moments before.  
  
“You wonder what has gotten into me, do you not?”  
  
His voice was hoarse and sounded awfully fragile.  
  
“I do as well.”  
  
Loki had still not said a word. He could simply take none of it. The sticky air. The growing nausea. Something like pity nibbling at his brain and his heart. Those eyes.  
  
He feared that this was the king’s intention. To have him feel compassion and sympathy, to make him empathize so he would eventually-  
  
He suddenly noticed he was no longer the center of Thranduil's attention and when that unyielding glare was averted, he felt like a heavy weight had just been taken off of him.   
  
The new expression Thranduil wore then was, however, by far more terrifying.  
  
Eyes widened and pale lips slightly parted, the Elvenkings gaze was fixed on a point behind Loki, and in that moment, Loki did not look upon a king, he looked upon a ghost. Thranduil let out a gasp and Loki turned around to see what had caused the horror and shock in his opposite’s eyes.   
  
It was a deer, slowly and carefully approaching them as if being frightened.  
  
When it was close enough for them to see its dull eyes and and its filth-strained fur, he realized it was not being cautious, but rather unable to walk straight. It staggered, from one side to the other, until it finally collapsed a few steps away.  
  
Loki was sure he would never be able to banish the image of Thranduil's pained expression at that sight.  
  
The elf started moving towards the dying being, at first steadily, but when he reached it he was almost hurrying.  
  
In really every other situation Loki would have thought this reaction to be massively exaggerated. He would have chuckled to himself, being incapable of understanding how a single, random deer could leave a grown man shattered and distressed like that, but when he looked at Thranduil kneeling down to it, taking its head carefully into his hands and speaking soft, foreign words into its ear, he could not fight the dull ache that slowly started spreading in his chest.  
  
He watched the scene. Watched Thranduil talking more insistently, his voice occasionally breaking, one hand laid flat across its breast and the other on its forehead, until its limbs went slack and its head finally fell loosely down to the muddy ground.  
  
Thranduil lifted his head and stiffened, yet not getting up and still facing the lifeless deer.  
  
Loki had read about the elves’ special relation to nature, yes, their love and affection towards it had literally dripped from almost every word he had read. He knew about their mutual awe and respect.  
  
Losing that innocent deer while no one was at war must have been similar to losing a child.  
  
A bizarre mixture of dynamism and wrath gripped Loki and he quickly paced over to Thranduil, kneeling down next to him while wide, blue orbs followed each of his movements in confusion.  
  
He would try to summon a healing spell he had often used on himself after being wounded in battle or in training; He knew not whether it would show any effect on the animal since he knew fairly little about the dark energies and forces this deer and the rest of the woods had apparently fallen prey to, yet he decided it would be worth a try. Splaying his hands out on the deer’s still warm body he gathered all concentration he was able to bring up, hissing ancient phrases and closing his eyes in an attempt to completely focus.  
  
His eyes snapped open when he felt streams of energy slowly flowing from his hands into the flesh beneath. He felt the familiar stutter of pulse, the heart sluggishly returning to its regular beat, eyes fluttering open and shimmering with new life.  
  
The deer twitched, shook its head, carefully got up on its feet, gave both Loki and Thranduil a brief, bewildered look and ran off into the depths of the forest like it had never done anything else in its entire life.  
  
Loki watched it disappear and only turned his head when he felt a penetrating gaze linger on him.  
  
Eyes red and watery, Thranduil appeared to have lost himself in Lokis face, orbs searching it while flitting wildly. Attempting to say something he opened his mouth, but not a single word left it.  
  
Lokis heart pound faster, whether it was because he had just put so much effort in saving a common deer or because of that intense eye contact he could not tell, he was as well at a loss of words and momentarily incapable of thinking straight.  
  
For a single day, this had been quite much.  
  
Thranduil frowned and Loki believed to see the meaning of the expression he wore. He would not have the Elf talk about it, however.  
  
“We should return”, Thranduil murmured, obviously trying to regain some self-control and order, still looking at Loki distraughtly, “..To my halls. The air carries ailment and disease. We have been breathing too much of it already.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, took me a while, but it's here :-) please let me know what you think about it so far. x


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god guys,i am so sorry. this took me years. i'm on my way to my finals so there are shitloads of schoolstuff to do, but well here it is.. its very likely that i continue now right away though, so the next chapter is probably not so far away. i hope you can still enjoy it there is much bitchfight in this one

The return had not been any more comfortable, really. 

Apparently, even after what had happened in the forest, there were no words appropriate enough to be spoken between them. Loki doubted there was anything he or Thranduil could have said that would have made it simpler. 

He sat on the stony ground of his cell again, imagining scenarios which all, in fact, were different versions of how he could or should have acted at the sight of Thranduil and the deer. 

He had been shamelessly lied to, had been deceived – by himself. Had he not sworn to not behave the way he was expected to, just nights before?

He had. 

Strong and independent had he thought himself, had thought himself his own master, the one in control, and had turned out to be none of it. 

Too furious to be abashed, he groaned in impatience, frustrated by the fact that there was nothing else than sitting and musing to be expected the following hours. Or even days. Weeks?

Just as he was about to get up to stretch his sluggish legs a bit, he heard the familiar rustling of keys.

Holding his breath in anticipation he stopped in his tracks and watched Tauriel pulling open the heavy bars – a sight he had gotten strangely used to, had started to consistently look forward to even, he realized. 

It exasperated him just how easily he had grown dependent on it. 

The creak the door to his cell would make each time it was opened or closed had become music to his ears. Tauriel’s face was a view he still did not overly enjoy, despite its undeniable fairness. Although Loki himself knew best that he, of all people, was by all means untrustworthy, he simply could not stand the fact that she had judged him the second she had first seen him. She was not at all an exception concerning that matter, yet Loki had developed an inexplicable reluctance towards her. Whether it was her all too present mistrust or her lack of composure or something else entirely, he could not tell. 

Her hazel eyes scanned him and again, there seemed to be something that highly displeased her. 

Loki waited for her to speak, surprised about how patient he was with it, and tilted his head. When she swiftly narrowed her eyes and curtly commanded him to follow, he remained silent; He himself had grown tired of his little games and let the Elf lead him somewhere he didn’t know. That, as well, was something he had become accustomed to. 

The image of a puppet tied to a string briefly crossed his mind yet for some reason, he refused to pay any attention to it. 

When they stopped in front of a rather large, ebony door, he did not remember the way they had taken. 

Tauriel pushed it open with her pale hands spread out flatly on the even material, gesturing Loki to go inside after having fully opened it. 

A chamber. A great, comfortable chamber, full-size bed with a wooden frame, desk, bookshelf, fireplace. Amber lamps on stone walls. He blinked, not exactly knowing what he was expected to say or to do, as he did not really know for which purpose he had been brought there. Confusion was nothing he would ever display, though. 

“I must say, there have been more discreet attempts to seduce me indeed. But know that I give you great credit for trying..” 

It appeared she had eventually stopped trying to fight back and just kept staring into the fire, but obviously gritted her teeth at his comment. 

“This is where you stay, from now on”, she muttered, “I hope it is.. to your liking. Leave it whenever you please, but.. know that the guards are still present. ” 

He grinned at how much these words must have injured her pride and at how she had almost spat them. The whole situation seemed to please him just slightly too much. 

“The most sincere thanks, my lady! It does suffice, I suppose.”

“Listen”, she suddenly snapped at him, her eyes sparkling with fury, “I do not think I can understand what the king sees in you, who he thinks you to be, but know that you cannot fool me. I do not know what you did to him, which spell you have cast upon him or which words you used on him but do not think I will not find out, I fear no enemies, may they be strangers or acquaintances.”

“So, to you, I am the enemy?”

She watched him, not moving an inch. 

“You think I am the worst it can get? Am I a serious threat to you? You see these giant spiders and their spawn each day and still spend your thoughts on opposing a man who hasn’t caused a single scratch? The spiders are just the first or perhaps the second stage of what is to come”, he chuckled, unbelieving of her stubbornness. 

“How would you know?”, Tauriel murmured suspiciously, her eyes then suddenly widened.

“..One of Sauron’s servants probably would.”

Loki laughed out loud at that, but his anger quickly made him return to smiling dismissively.

“It does not take that much knowledge to see a development in the dimensions their spreading is taking”, he shot back, visibly less amused and more annoyed, “If these dark forces you speak of are feared by warriors and kings for their might, do you think the spiders are the best they can do? No offense to you, my lady, but you put your energy and your intolerableness into the wrong places completely. I do not think it occurred to you to make me your ally yet, did it?”

Her face was no longer strained, but neutral and emotionless, and her mouth did not open to break the silence that followed. Loki then interrupted her search for words. 

“Suspicion is always better than naivety, really. I would lie if I said I would trust myself if I were in your place. Yet I can assure you that hating me will not do you any good.” 

He smiled mischievously and kept their eyes locked. Without saying a word, Tauriel handed him a single key and mirrored his false smile. 

“Have an enjoyable stay”, she said calmly, nodded swiftly and left. 

Loki didn’t stop grinning even when he was all by himself and after observing his new surroundings, he let himself drop onto the incredibly soft bed and fell asleep soon after. 

 

~*~

 

“My king?” 

Thranduil blinked. 

“My king!”

“I do not know. Take whatever wine pleases you. Your choices have never disappointed me before, tonight they won’t either.”

“My apologies for having disturbed you. I did not intend to bore you, my Lord, I falsely assumed these were the kinds of decisions you were enjoying to make.”

“Galion-“

Lithe fingers slipped from the railing they had clung to just moments before. Even then, hanging down loosely and abandoned of all life, they looked light, feather-like, delicate, useless, like they had never seen battle, like they never would. 

Slowly, Thranduil turned around, a motion graceful to strangers, miserable to those who knew the strength for doing otherwise had left him. Yet still, he was pleasing and daunting to look at with his robes cascading down the heights of his slender frame and eyes bitingly cold, inviting and dismissive. 

“Leave.”

Momentarily startled by the harsh command, the butler’s eyes widened, but having served the king for centuries he had learned to deal with the sudden changes of mood. His face quickly turned neutral again.

“Excuse my boldness, my Lord.”

With a bow, he left. 

And alone he stood on the balcony, again, wondering why he had not thanked him for reminding him of the festivities that night, but feelings of regret and guilt never lasted long. Soon, he was merely wondering why he had not dismissed him instantly for upsetting his king, how he could even think of annoying him with insignificant decisions like these when there were things far more gruesome and threatening to worry about. 

He stood still, the homely feeling of not wanting to move ensued. It flooded his whole body, causing his limbs to stiffen and his head to go numb, freeing it of all bad if only for that moment. He felt like never even stirring again. 

The night was chilly, tiny rays of moonlight glistening through the thick treetops and a gentle breeze causing its leaves to rustle. Not many Elves possessed a balcony like he did; the privilege of being given the chance to catch a glimpse of sun- or starlight on cloudless and windy nights was reserved for feasts on special nights only, for openings in the cave were not only ways out, but also ways in. Except for a small circle of trusted ones, no soul knew of it, and times like these demanded to keep it that way. A sight like the one that night was rare since the trees would usually shield the elves from any kind of light- yet that night, small shining spots were dancing all over the ground, the walls, illuminating the balcony in a cold yet mysterious blue and bouncing from corner to corner.

Thranduil would not notice it. 

A small gust tugged on his hair. When he carefully lifted his hand to hold on to the railing again, it was the only sign of life.

A familiar voice then startled him.

“My Lord?”, said she, full of poorly hidden concern, the words filling his ears and resounding in his head. There was no need to look for its source, no need to move unnecessarily. It should bother him, having so many good and merry people worrying over him, having burdened them with his troubles, yet was this not how it’s supposed to be? Should they not worry about their king, should his worries not be their only task? It was all about him, after all. They should follow him, should be determined to his well-being alone-

He frowned when he caught himself following that path again. 

Sometimes his thoughts would cloud, would lead him to a shadowy, dreadful path of no return. He had always managed to fight it off, however he feared the day his strength would not suffice anymore.

“My Lord, are you-“

“Yes.”

When Tauriel looked at him, he could hardly bear the pity that filled her eyes. He loathed it. He abhorred the idea of being pitied, he did not need it, even if he died the most painful and unjust death he would not wish to be pitied. 

“Speak.”

“I have led him to his chamber.”

Thranduil stopped frowning and his features relaxed, his face then displaying no emotion at all.

“..I assume he is asleep now”, she continued hastily as if having said something unpleasant, clearly unsure of how to talk to him as he behaved rather curiously. 

“Good”, he simply said.  
Tauriel cleared her throat then, taking a few steps forward without averting her gaze from the Elvenking. 

He closed his eyes and turned his head in exhaustion. He knew she was about to make him talk, ask him questions he would not answer anyway, and was tired of it already.

“You doubt me”, he said monotonously before she could proceed.

“No I don’t”, she said, more severe than Thranduil would have expected, “But it is my task to support and to protect you and to ensure the safety of this realm. I am but taking it very seriously.”

He knew where the conversation would lead, yet he did not interrupt her. The look she wore then, full of skepticism and slight confusion, revealed that she had not expected to even make it that far. 

“There is something Loki is hiding. Something he does not tell on purpose. We do not know what he is capable of, and we-“

She stopped in mid-sentence, watching Thranduil slowly directing his stare at her. He felt the familiar sparkling heat of anger steadily growing in his chest, wandering up to his head as it spread and he knew not why he was starting to feel that resentful all of a sudden. He felt offended. 

“He is able to cure them”, he muttered, his voice nothing but a low, trembling breeze. 

The pale face in front of him frowned. 

“..What?”

“He can revive them. The beings afflicted with the forest’s disease. He extracted the darkness from a deer despite its eyes being dull with lifelessness already. A skill possessed by hardly anybody, a skill that is, as far as I know, solely possessed by the brown wizard.” 

Tauriel looked at her king rather expressionlessly. 

“It could all be part of his plan to earn our trust”, she said, her voice slightly more urging, “What if he indeed is a spy, what if he hides his vicious intentions behind falsely good ones? Those who inflict it sure know how to heal it..”

“You are trying my patience, Tauriel.”

“My Lord, I-“

“Do not think me a fool. I know that foes ever so often wear the mask of a friend, and experience has left me skeptical and leery.”

There was silence when Tauriel pressed her lips together and Thranduil released her from his icy glare.

"Do you remember”, the king began, suddenly much calmer, “reporting to me that he took my shape in front of your eyes?”

She merely nodded.

“There is exactly one skin-changer left, and even he can only change from man to bear. Added to this, he has no control over this transformation. Loki obviously has.” 

He knew she was by no means simpleminded, but he also knew she would, sometimes, judge too simple and too soon. 

“There is nothing more to discuss. As soon as he awakes, let him know I desire to see him. There are many questions I must find an answer to.” 

She bowed then and left, and Thranduil believed to hear her gritting her teeth.


	8. Chapter 8

To his surprise, he was quite fond of the new clothing.

He had found it next to his bed when he had woken; Neatly folded had it been placed on one of the wooden chairs. Reluctant at first, he had inwardly refused to put it on as to him, this was a step in the completely wrong direction. To him, it was a sign of giving in, and curing the deer had basically been too much of a sign of weakness already. He wanted them all to see, to practically feel his reluctance and to recognize his foreignness, yet he also did not want to wear his old clothing a single day longer and when he had convinced himself to at least try taking it on, he had felt too comfortable to put it off again. He would still be perceived as different, he decided as he looked into a huge mirror for the first time in months. Also he decided that it suited him and that he would only wear it as long as his old clothes were being cleaned.

Judging from the various muffled noises coming from outside his door, including hasty footsteps and distant harp playing, there was yet again another festivity being held that evening.

He remembered the first and only gathering he had witnessed in this place, and despite having been chained up and having caught only a glimpse of it all, he could tell those celebrations differed immensely from those he had experienced back in Asgard.

He wondered if this was the night he would get to eat something other than bread.

Loki was still staring at his reflection in the mirror when Tauriel entered.

Briefly he considered a few different options of what to say to her, of which facial expression to use or of which way to turn around, just to end up doing nothing of that sort. Not moving an inch, he watched her reflection scan him, twice, watched her eyes searching his in the mirror.

He hummed and smiled at her image contentedly and if their mutual dislike had not been so very clear from the start, one could have deemed this moment an encounter of two old friends.

The persistent ache had left his body completely and slumber was still, if just slightly, numbing his mind, which made it hard for him to quickly force aversion and mischief to the surface and made the idea of reacting suddenly appear very unpleasant.

“King Thranduil wishes to see you”, she said with an expression Loki found he could not read.

“And how am I supposed to find him”, he responded, not really letting it sound like a question.

When she remained silent, he added “I certainly don’t want to bother you with having to guide me there.”

“I am sure that, sooner or later, you will find him, somehow.”

Her glare was icy then. The room temperature seemed to have dropped within seconds and obviously, this rather immature little game they were playing had become too much of an unnecessary burden for her to further take part in, as she left as soon as she had said what there was to say.

The silence that followed made him focus on what the information he had just been given actually meant for him.

There would be talking. Talking and probably stressful discussing. Loki was not sure whether he was in the mood for much conversation that night, whether he would ever be in the mood for what would surely turn out to be an interrogation - his sleep had not lasted all too long and actually, he would have enjoyed turning his brain off if only for an evening.

And he just couldn’t tear his eyes away from his own reflection. Something was different – sure, his hair had grown a bit, it was messy and curly since in prison, he hadn’t been able to properly take care of it and had not yet found the time to make use of the bathroom linked to his chamber he had, more or less intentionally, found before he had fallen asleep, yet it was not only his appearance he could not get used to.

It was like he was looking at a man resembling him, not at himself.

He found himself being unable of finding an explanation, so after a while of thinking he decided to not let Thranduil wait too long. There would still be time to think things over.

Finally managing to turn around, he went to the bathroom to take a bath and take care of his hair, and after that he left his chamber and swiftly walked down some corridors, taking the direction he had come from earlier that evening. Soon, he was cursing himself for not having paid enough attention while roaming the halls with Tauriel, as it took him quite a while to find the way just by following servants and the faint music – when the hallways became more and more crowded, however, he quickly figured out which way to go.

When he realized he was standing in front of a very familiar, huge gate he eventually stopped. He remembered being stared at, hundreds of pairs of curious eyes scanning him, while that night these eyes seemed clearly less interested and more indifferent.

Again he found most of the people dancing when he entered, so he assumed that it was the ballroom he was setting foot in. Unlike the throne room, it was one huge confined room with a consistent floor and stone carven walls; no depths, no bridges, no trunks. Just some large tables at the sides and an elevated seat at the back, which he could hardly see from where he stood.

He continued walking in its direction, expecting Thranduil to sit on it, yet he realized it was empty as soon as he got close.

Loki wondered how to find him between all these dancing couples.

He expected him to be there since it was surely a celebration held at his command, but even searching this room would take him a good while.

Thranduil was not the only tall elf with long blonde hair, after all.

Yet, shouldn’t a king be the easiest to spot?

“Excuse me”, came a soft voice from behind and when he felt a light hand tapping his shoulder, he turned around.

The elven maid smiled cheerfully when Loki looked at her. Grey eyes searched his face while one delicate, porcelain hand stroked back a strand of wavy, dark brown hair. Pointy nose and full lips.

He couldn’t help but smile back.

“You are not from here, are you?”

“Your perception is without equal, my lady.”

“You are silly”, she chuckled and quickly pushed back the stubborn strand that had somehow fallen into her face again.

“I am Loki”, he responded and earned a broad smile.

“Have we met before, Loki? I am sure I have seen you before.”

“I do not think we have. I’m sure I would remember a face like yours.”

She blushed madly at that, her smile growing even wider as she looked to the ground.

As he looked at her, being all flustered and at a loss for words, he felt that he didn’t want that conversation to proceed. The urge to excuse himself gripped him, pulling him a step back.

The last thing he wanted was to be rude, but he didn’t know what would be the wisest thing to do.

It was something he had not stumbled upon in the books he had read.

He knew much about elves in general, he knew other elves, dark elves, yet these elves, they were different. Incomparable concerning that matter. He knew as good as nothing about their habits.

Whether a rejection was something they would get easily offended about.

“Would you care to dance?”

She gave him an expectant look and he raised his brows.

He opened his mouth in order to reply but when he noticed her averting her gaze, he stopped.

“My king”, the elven maid said delightedly while quickly making a curtsey.

And indeed, next to them stood Thranduil, greeting the maid with a slow nod.

“I am afraid he has to come with me now”, the king explained politely, “that is, if it is no trouble to you.”

Loki was suddenly very aware of Thranduil’s captivatingly strong presence. Not just because he was so close, Loki realized, but because he seemed to radiate his position. His superiority. He did not even wear his crown and still, Loki was sure that everybody would see, from miles away, that he was a king. Loki knew that strangers would see it, animals would see it, that blind men would feel it.

He watched him casting the maid an intense look.

The elf was smiling slightly, and even his eyes appeared to be shining with kindness and politeness, but it was all just a little too much for Loki to believe it. A little too long and a little too calm.

It seemed that everybody in these halls, including Thranduil himself, knew that Thranduil’s orders could and would not be defied.

Loki knew better than to call it a friendly request, and the maid seemed to know better as well.

He saw her fleeting disappointment vanish and a contrived smile appear instead.

“Not at all, my Lord.”

Without having told him her name she left, giving Loki one last, admiring look, and the king’s eyes followed her until she was nothing but another head in the crowd.

His gaze pierced her back all the way and Loki would have sworn Thranduil was fond of her if he had not seen the way his expression had changed after they had broken eye contact. Never had he seen gentleness turn into what he believed to be dislike so rapidly.

He then felt that exact gaze lingering on him for the first time that evening.

“You forgot whom you were supposed to meet, it seems.”

“Well I’m lucky you’re here to remind me”, Loki replied, lifting his brows and smirking.

Unsurprisingly, Thranduil’s gaze darkened.

“I suggest you to not leave me waiting.”

“Impatient, are we?”

For a second, Loki expected a hand to strike his face, but the body in front of him remained the way it was. It was obvious though that Thranduil struggled to keep his anger at bay.

After giving Loki a deprecating stare, he turned around.

“Come.”

It was amusing to watch the others make way for him as he strode along. Like he was the light shadows fled from. Everything about him was so bright that evening, Loki noticed as he surveyed the king’s back on their way, the hair almost stingingly white and the robes brilliantly silver as he moved, upright and graceful. The wooden staff Loki only then realized he had with him swung in rhythm and, in a certain way, added to the intimidatingly vigorous appearance.

It did not take them long to reach another exit which led them to a rather broad, well-lit path.

The farther they diverged from the ballroom, the quieter it got, and the lesser people they met.

Thranduil then stopped next to a plain wooden door, which Loki had probably not noticed had there not been two guards watching it.

When he entered, Loki followed.

A fireplace, a small table, two armchairs and a bottle of wine was all the room behind that door contained, without the slightest trace of extravagance, and Loki did not at all know what to think of it.

“Please”, came Thranduil’s calm voice as he offered him one of the seats.

Honestly wondering whether he had just walked into some kind of trap he closed the door behind him and slowly took the chair he was offered. Also wondering why he was not running already, he watched the king sit down in front of him. The fire was crackling and Loki felt the warmth descending on his face.

When he was offered a glass of wine then, he did not even think of refusing it.

“You seem nervous”, Thranduil remarked without looking at him.

“Well, I have never seen prisoners being treated this way. It could either be taken as a sign for my upcoming execution or it could be taken as evidence for my unquestionable irresistibility, where I would certainly go for the latter.”

“Now, I see there is at the very least one who truly believes that.”

“There are realms that consider me a god, actually. I have several names, but I am commonly known as the god of mischief. My brother Thor, he-“

He quickly glanced at the glass of wine in his hand.

“He is the god of thunder. I was raised by Odin Allfather, who.. kind of rules Asgard.”

His eyes remained fixed on the red liquid and he then hastily took a long sip of it.

After he had finished half of his glass he looked over at Thranduil, who was staring at him with his brows raised.

“The god of mischief”, Thranduil repeated, not looking away.

“Indeed”, Loki replied severely.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the nervously cracking fire.

“You tell me you are the god of mischief and expect me to trust you?”

Loki chuckled softly and noticed his opposite smiling also. He did have a point, after all.

“No I don’t.”

Thranduil’s eyes shone in the orange light of the flames and he looked different, Loki realized. He also realized the slight blur that crept over his eyes after he blinked.

"Moerover, you are no longer my prisoner."

He realized he was staring at Thranduil’s face.

Irritated, he quickly turned his head to watch the fire and emptied his glass in one sip.

“I would be more careful. This wine is considered rather strong, even amongst us elves-“

“I am used to drinking wine, thank you very much.”

“Then do as you please. I wish you to be able to have a reasonable conversation, however.”

Loki grinned and tilted his head.

“What do you want to know?”

Thranduil sipped on his wine and sighed and Loki asked himself whether he was tired of talking to him already.

“How did you find my halls in the first place? You knew my name when you arrived.”

“I saw a group of guards hunting down the spiders I was hiding from and overheard them talking about you and the palace and decided to follow them. Simple as that.”

He hummed at that, the deep voice vibrating through the glass Loki was still clinging to. It was completely unapparent to him as to why he was starting to feel so uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“You know exactly why you are here, in Mirkwood. I want you to tell me.”

Their eyes locked.

Loki knew that he should have thought of an answer beforehand.

“Well”, he started, hollowly observing the table next to him, “my stay here is my punishment.”

He did not mean to say it like that. His cheeks sure were burning red and there was nothing he could do. He could not possibly be drunk from a single glass of red wine.

At the sight of Thranduil’s startled expression, he desperately tried to regain some self-control.

“I mean I’ve done things they’re too misguided to understand. They.. it was my right. The throne was – is – my birthright, and I needed to show them that I was able to rule. But they didn’t see.”

There was silence.

The king did not even blink as he studied each of Loki’s movements, and Loki felt like he was about to run out of air. It felt like the fire had devoured it all. Heat started to fill his chest.

“I am not even bound to them by blood! This is not even what I actually look like. Frost Giants, that’s what the monsters that brought me forth are called, and I was raised to despise them! For centuries they, they just left me living my life as the shameless lie it was, promising me what was rightfully mine just to eventually give it to that thickheaded idiot they call my brother! How could a pile of muscles with an empty head on top possibly rule Asgard?”

Loki was breathing heavily when he stopped. Only when he saw the shocked look on Thranduil’s face, bewilderedly directed at his lap, he started to feel a slight pain.

Carefully looking down he saw the glass had burst in his grip. The shards had cut his skin in several places and blood trickled down his palms.

“You should-“

“No it’s fine. It is but a caress compared to what kinds of pain I am used to.”

His thoughts involuntarily wandered to the green creature and he cringed.

Hot blood and rage were still pulsating furiously in his head when he put the remaining pieces in his lap on the small table.

Raising his eye to Thranduil he found a strange look was carved into his face.

His mouth slightly opened, brows furrowed, and all Loki could see were two pools of icy blue.

Breath uneven.

Loki’s gaze dropped to the king’s chest. He felt dizzy and his lips were dry.

Only when he blinked again he realized that his eyes weren’t.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i shouldnt promise to post a chapter soon and then let it take over a month. im so sorry

He tried to look away and he failed.

  
Unable to tear his eyes away from the blood all over his hands and the confused, exasperated face, Thranduil simply kept staring, not daring to interrupt the deafening silence.

  
There was suddenly nothing left of the Loki he had thought to have seen through, absolutely nothing left of the Loki he had carefully put together in his head and Thranduil was just then beginning to comprehend that he would, from that very point on, always see him with different eyes.

  
He could not have possibly made it all up.

  
It felt as though the puzzle he had been trying to complete was destroyed, the pieces scattered in every direction possible, leaving him with having to start all over again.

  
Thranduil doubted Loki would have told anything of that ilk had he not drunken his wine so hurriedly, but it did not matter.

  
It was different not only from what he had expected of that conversation, but from what he had expected of Loki altogether, it made his brain work flat out and a knot form in his stomach.

  
Many things that were hidden before were suddenly becoming so evident, so obvious, so _real_ they seemed to physically pain that man in front of him, and, as Thranduil realized, were starting to pain himself as well.

  
He believed to see so many things at once.

  
He saw Loki’s age, saw just how much he had been through, just how many things he had witnessed and taken part in and how many things he was yet to undergo. He saw just how much frustration he had experienced, and how much damage he had caused in his despair. He saw his sadness and his rage, his hopelessness and his incomprehension, his betrayal. Saw his wounds and what it would take to heal them.

  
Saw that he was just like himself.

  
It crashed down on him like a huge, relentless wave, causing his face to heat up and his breath to become ragged.

  
From the moment Loki had set foot in his halls, he had wanted to believe him, but that was just one of many other circumstances that made Thranduil question not only himself, but his sanity.

  
That arrogant, impertinent grin had never bothered him as it should have, had never caused the indignation Thranduil had pretended to feel. His intelligence was daunting, yet instead of feeling threatened by it, Thranduil realized he deemed it one of his greatest qualities. He was vulnerable, unstable and broken, but Thranduil found he could not look down on him and regard him as inferior and weak, could only think of how twistedly alike they were. Loki was unpredictability, Loki was risk, Loki was danger.

  
Loki was magnificence.

  
He remembered the awful feeling that had grasped him when he had seen him talking to that maid.

  
He still had no use for it. All he knew was that all of it was nothing he should be feeling.

  
The repulsion Tauriel, his son and in fact everybody else seemed to cherish towards him, the repulsion he found he could not share, did nothing to lessen the growing temptation to be genuinely captivated by him.

  
Catching himself musing about these absurd, these disturbing things and finally managing to avert his eyes from the face he had not noticed he was absent-mindedly staring at, he emptied his wine in an attempt to feel at least a little more comfortable and a little less tense.

  
The deer came to his mind once more.

  
There had been no need for Loki to save it. Thranduil remembered how he had told him of his misery and the way he had looked at him in return, and while the king did neither remember the smell of the air nor the robes he had worn that day, he did remember the way Loki’s eyes had shone while listening to him and the smile he had worn when they had arrived.

  
Whether he intended to recall all these insignificant, foolish things or not was irrelevant, since all his efforts to erase them had turned out to be futile and a waste of strength.

  
His breath hitched at the realization of it.

  
He became aware of his own rapid heartbeat.

  
The still blazing fire stung in his eyes as he had started staring at it instead and had not blinked since. He suddenly wished it would just die out and leave them in the dark so he would not have to look at Loki’s face ever again.

  
It kept burning.

  
Eventually, he tore his gaze away once more, undeniably trying to fight it and undeniably knowing he should have left by now, letting Loki return to his chamber in order to continue the conversation the next day, yet the moment he directed his look at his opposite again he knew, undeniably, that this would be something he would regret.

  
Having feared to look at a watery pair of green eyes again, he was surprised and at some part relieved that Loki’s expression had neutralized.

  
He was blankly staring at the shards on the table, his still blood stained hands lying loosely in his lap.

  
He looked up and met Thranduil’s gaze.

  
Smiled.

  
Was, all of a sudden, Loki again.

  
“Guess I’ve just given you quite the scare”, he plainly said.

  
Thranduil wished it was fear that had left him so taken aback.

  
“Well it is a rather.. unconventional way of discussing family matters indeed. You could never actually scare me, however. I do not fear you. ”

  
“Yes you do.”

  
The expression Loki wore then was one Thranduil could not read and he wondered whether he really had just lied to Loki. He wondered whether he had just told him the lie he had told himself over and over since Loki had appeared.

  
“And you should”, the raven-haired added in a voice so low and breathy it made his words sound not like an actual threat, but rather like a promise.

  
Thranduil analysed Loki’s posture. Let his eyes roam over the pale hands, tightly clutching to each arm of the chair, upper body leaned forward, offensive, as if about to get up. Hair a mess, trails of blood now everywhere. Face one big smile.

  
Anger and indignation radiated off him, it was all so tense that it should have felt cold, icy in fact, yet instead it all emitted cruelly hot, and like a starving fire it spread and seemed to fill the room in a matter of seconds, and Thranduil felt it.

  
Felt it more intensely than he wished to feel it. Could not bear the blood for a second longer.

  
He suddenly remembered the small, linen cloth he had with him and pulled it out, carefully handed it to his opposite and hoped he would just accept it without further remarks.

  
When he did, Thranduil tried to hide his relief.

  
The green eyes wouldn’t quit staring at him, not even while they were actually supposed to be occupied with cleaning. The tension just wouldn’t leave. Thranduil had never been that uncomfortable with being the center of attention, could not remember any point in his life at which he had felt quite so transparent.

  
One of Loki’s hands then reached for the bottle on the table, grabbed it, put it to his mouth, and he took some pulls while his eyes still pierced into Thranduil’s.

  
The situation was becoming gradually more and more surreal and Thranduil feared he was slowly losing control of it, after all he too had had some more wine than usual and the unyielding, painful heat was still gnawing on his chest from the inside, which led to him being less attentive than usual. He did not fight the urge to let his eyes roam down Loki’s bared neck and watch him empty the wine, neither did he stare at the consistently flexing throat subtly, he did as he pleased, was suddenly too exhausted to struggle against himself. Every other thought was pushed aside, his head felt empty and stuffed at the same time.

  
“What about your family?”

  
It should have gotten Thranduil back to reality, but it hadn’t.

  
“Your queen? Parents?”

  
“They passed.”

  
He did not wish to speak. He needed air, he realized, air not as thick as smoke, fresh air. Thranduil was shocked at how indifferent he was reacting – he had just been confronted with a topic he had spent decades, centuries grieving over, mourning, one sleepless night after another, and now it seemed the wine was drowning the last bit of sorrow he had left. Shame bloomed somewhere deep inside him.

  
“I am sorry”, Loki said, but his face did not display anything like condolence.

  
Thranduil blinked.

  
When he stood up, his head was swirling slightly.

  
“There is something I wish to show you.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short, but i kind of like how it turned out and i think this scene should have a chapter for itself. it's kind of not even close to the end tho, so if you like this fic don't worry there is more >:-) also do you sometimes imagine loki turning into a poetic little shit when he's drunk because i do

It was a new world entirely.

A sight incredibly joyful to the eye, stars covering the sky, one brighter than the other, drawing colourful patterns like paintings. The moon stood out, biggest and most sublime, shining the brightest as if vanity and arrogance made it want to compete. 

Loki sure was used to sights like these, however this view in particular stunned him in a way no night sky in Asgard could.

A strange felicity filled him, knowing there was something not completely devoured by darkness, yet the thought that a beauty like this was hidden to most elve's eyes stirred melancholy in his chest.  
  
They had taken quite a few steps to a rather isolated balcony and Loki wondered, for a short second, where all this would lead, yet that thought vanished instantly when he noticed the heavy leaves of the trees swaying rhythmically in the gentle wind.  
  
Shadows danced across the stone floor and except for the quiet whispers of the trees, they were shrouded in otherworldly silence.  
  
As his own pulse and the rush of his blood were filling his head with enough unpleasant noise, Loki enjoyed the tranquility of the balcony immensely.  
  
The air seemed to be unsoiled, free of disease, so he took a deep breath.  
  
His head was spinning.  
  
In order to get proper hold, he reached out for the handrail next to him and closed his hand around the cold stone. He cheered internally when he managed to do so with an upright posture and without stumbling.  
  
Why had he brought up Thranduil’s family in the first place?  
  
Loki could not exactly explain what had gotten into him, all he knew was that he had not intended to do so from the start.  
  
Had not, in fact, intended to do so _ever_.  
  
His hands did not hurt. His limbs felt slightly numb, his face hot. Everything so pleasantly sluggish.  
  
Why had he brought him there?  
  
It was not a public place, Loki could tell.  
  
Heard dull harps from afar.  
  
“This is a place only few know about.”  
  
Thranduil’s voice was close.  
  
“And I wish to keep it that way.”  
  
Loki turned and examined the king’s shadowy profile.  
  
“It is impressing”, he then said, not knowing what exactly he was referring to.  
  
“It is”, Thranduil replied nevertheless.  
  
Loki did not move from his side, part of him simply wanting to keep staring at the sky in awe, part of him not wanting to leave the comfortable warmth the elf next to him was emanating.  
  
He froze.  
  
Tried to quickly distance himself from that last thought, but it seemed he lacked conviction.  
  
He glanced over at Thranduil, who was also admiring the sea of stars above.  
  
There was nothing but silence between them, but neither of them seemed uncomfortable with it. Loki felt his vision blur a bit, felt his body being flooded with warmth and he had to admit to himself that he had not felt that complete in ages.  
  
It was then that he first noticed.  
  
When Thranduil returned his gaze, he saw it as clearly as he had never before.  
  
The Elvenking’s beauty exceeded the beauty of the sky by far.  
  
Loki was not sure whether it was the intoxicating effect of the wine or whether it was what he truly thought, but he found himself unable to resist the urge to follow that notion.  
  
He found that each of those disgustingly radiant strands of white hair cascading down the king’s shoulders had a breathtaking, unnatural beauty to itself, he found that the eyes he was staring into were the brightest and deepest he had ever witnessed, the irises threatening to pour out and drip down those pale, alabaster cheeks like the purest of waters. He found himself staring at the marvellously soft shaped and almost feminine lips, found that this fair face was placed on an even fairer neck, found that the sensitive skin shone like porcelain.  
  
Found that he had been staring just a moment too long.  
  
“I am surely not used to so few words coming from your mouth”, Thranduil said, his voice almost a whisper, yet his look no less intense.  
  
Loki watched him, paralyzed, until he blinked, once, twice, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. He shook his head just slightly as if to put his thoughts in order. There was no need to be nervous, he thought, it was the wine, he was sure about that.  
  
“Well, would you like me to continue talking?”  
  
Thranduil’s expression changed at that, the stern look turned into an amused one.  
  
“No.”  
  
The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly and Loki’s chest felt like it tightened for a split second.  
  
After breathing in softly, he then let his head rush forward to swiftly press his lips to Thranduil’s, chastely, softly, only to quickly pull away again.  
  
Mere inches parting his face from the other, he searched it – he found a mouth slightly agape, wide eyes, incredibly long lashes framing the blue orbs like a silken curtain would flaunt a masterpiece.  
  
Hearing nothing but his own rapid heartbeat, seeing the wind lightly tugging at the blonde hair, he closed the gap once more just to be met halfway, already parted lips welcoming his own in a firm, demanding kiss, and something inside Loki seemed to burst and set free more heat as he was receiving what he didn’t know he had been craving.  
  
It was passionate, earnest, slow, as though something that had been repressed was unleashed that very moment, and the world around was switched off; there was something, Loki found, something soothing about it, something fulfilling, really, something that made him move his lips against the other’s , the mere thought of the exclusivity of it all making more blood rush to his face.  
  
A tiny fragment of his mind wondered why the Elvenking would not only let him do this, but return it, yet the sensation of a tongue lightly brushing his lower lip caused him to forget about anything else.  
  
It was not even close to enough.  
  
His right hand searched for hold on Thranduil’s chest and he realized he had never touched him, not even casually, had in fact never seen anyone touch him since the day of his arrival – the king he was so desperately pressing his lips against had not had physical contact with any other being in his surrounding since Loki had arrived, and the thought of it made him sigh softly into the kiss.  
  
For a brief second, he stopped thinking.  
  
Stopped planning. Stopped considering.  
  
He grasped at the delicate neck with both of his hands instead, trying to pull the light body closer although they already were as close as they could possibly get.  
  
He felt smooth skin slip away underneath his fingertips, inch after inch, fine hair brushing the back of his hand, before he closed his hands around the pale column to greedily, selfishly grab it.  
  
Hands not his own found their way to his waist, at first simply resting there, then gripping and pulling forward.  
  
Loki inclined his head, deepened the kiss, increasing the pace and the intensity of his movements, beautifully ragged breath in his ear urging him on.  
  
Then Thranduil pulled away.  
  
Both panting heavily, they stared at each other like they were staring at a stranger, and their eyes widened when realization hit them moments later.  
  
Each took a hasty step back.  
  
There was silence once more.  
  
Thranduil frowned, quickly, his mouth would simply not close. Loki opened his, attempting to say something but it would not pass his lips.  
  
Suddenly, too many things were starting to slowly become unbearable.  
  
Neither of them spoke or moved, the silence most unbearable, until Thranduil blinked, turned around and left wordlessly, hurriedly taking the stairs back down to his halls.  
  
When Loki noticed he had stopped breathing at some point, he let out a sigh, head swimming, wondered what to make of this.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok uhm i'm just going to leave this chapter here and will not lose a word about how it literally took me months to post it. you probably know how sorry i am. thanks to everybody who still looks forward to new chapters, i promise i won't let this fic end without properly finishing it. stay tuned

The first thing he felt was his head and the dull, nauseating ache that filled it.  
  
He covered his eyes with his shaky hands, dared not to open them.  
  
The thrum of his heart pumping blood through his veins resounded in his head and seemed to mute everything else.  
  
It was past sunrise already, he knew, despite his chamber having no window.  
  
Loki groaned in agony, pressed his fingers to his closed eyelids as if pain would fight pain, until he eventually let his hands drop loosely to his sides.  
  
He braced himself, sat up swiftly, realized his mistake and buried his face in his palms anew.  
  
Tensed suddenly.  
  
Remembered the reason for his state.  
  
Remembered the blue eyes, widened in horror.  
  
Groaned again.  
  
He was, at that point, not quite sure what he felt, whether it was regret, shame, excitement or really just the miserable headache he could not have told had anybody asked him.  
  
Shaking his head apparently only made it worse. He could not remember ever having felt that awful, in all his years, and he really _was_ used to drinking wine, he had not been lying to Thranduil concerning that matter.  
  
Piece after piece of memory came back to him, torturing him ever so slowly – he had told him almost everything, about his father, his brother, about why he thought he was there, in Mirkwood. Had been so upset he broke a glass in his hands. Had almost cried in front of him. Had actually–  
  
Loki felt like vomiting, but found he couldn’t.  
  
It bothered him most that he knew exactly what Thranduil was now thinking of him.  
  
He had made a complete fool out of himself, and though he did not really wish it, he knew he had to face him again.  
  
He also knew that he would not, on _any_ terms, show regret in front of the king, let alone apologize to him.  
  
What would he gain if he apologized?  
  
There was still a chance of letting it appear like just another part of his plan, the plan everybody seemed to think he had, the plan he actually hadn’t.  
  
He thought of Odin.  
  
Pictured his face, his derailed features at what he had seen – or, possibly, had not seen.  
  
His pride would not allow him to even consider an apology a possible option.  
  
The acute pain made it hard for him to search for solutions and he was still struggling with opening his eyes, which turned out to be an incredibly difficult task, however he knew there was not much time for him to whine and complain; He would have to get up, sooner or later, would have to see other people, would have to see Thranduil, and the thought did not exactly relieve his nausea.  
  
He grabbed hold of a bed post with one hand, the other pushing into the mattress to support his weight, and after two further attempts he managed to stand, if not perfectly straight.  
  
A few minutes later, the dizziness grew less intense, the painfully stinging light was blinked away and Loki was able to take a few steps towards the mirror.  
  
When he reached it, he didn’t look upon the picture he had expected to look upon.  
  
He had expected to be looking at a complete mess, at a being he wouldn’t recognize as himself, yet all he saw was that nothing had changed.  
  
His reflection looked like it had looked the day before.  
  
Not a single strand of hair out of place, eyes the usual bright, emerald green, skin not only awake - but glowing with life.  
  
Lips pressed firmly together, he scanned the mirror.  
  
He then noticed that something else was not quite the way it usually was after having drunk too much; Something he realized he considered worse than messy hair or dark circles under his eyes.  
  
There was nothing he could not remember about the night before.  
  
Not the tiniest piece of memory was lost, everything was perfectly in order, complete.  
  
Every sentiment, every sensation, every smell and every image, they were all in his head, suddenly starting to hail down on him.  
  
And questions, one after another, popped up and there was nothing he could do.  
  
Slowly, Loki brought his hand to his face, lightly touched his lower lip.  
  
He wished he could not explain last night’s occurrences. Wished he could just lie to himself and blame it on the wine, but he knew he could not. He thought of Thranduil and knew the reason.  
  
It had taken Loki a hilariously short time to realize he was intrigued by him, had already dropped by far more barriers than he had dropped in front of every other stranger in his entire life.  
  
Loki always wanted the things out of reach, always knowing he would not get them, and he knew this time it would be no different.  
  
Not because he was desperate, neither because he was weak.  
  
Experience had shown.  
  
This matter had to be discussed, however – he knew that. With a graceful spin he turned on his heels, and after freshening up in the bath he went off.  
  
What would Thranduil say to him?  
  
Countless thoughts whirled through his mind as he made his way down several corridors in order to ask about the king’s whereabouts.  
  
He felt more insecure with each step he took.  
  
Yet he would never let it show.  
  
After he had walked for what seemed like an eternity Loki finally came across an elf who appeared to be as much in a hurry as he was, as he had almost run into him and had not even cared to look up. When he asked him about the king, he earned a pair of raised eyebrows and more or less detailed directions in response.    
  
“He has not left his study since first light”, he replied shortly, “I do not think he will let you enter.”  
  
Loki continued to stare at him.  
  
“I do not think he will let anybody enter.”  
  
Clearly uncomfortable with Loki not averting his gaze, he nodded shortly and stormed off in the opposite direction.  
  
It didn't take long to find it then.  
  
Of course, he found the entrance to the room guarded, however he would not let this get into his way.  
  
“The king does not wish –“  
  
One quick gesture and the guards stopped in their tracks. Like statues they could only watch as Loki entered the king’s study, calmly and carelessly, effortlessly.  
  
He did not know what would wait behind that door.  
  
He could only imagine; And he had, in fact, imagined various scenarios beforehand. He had imagined Thranduil being furiously mad, having all his built-up rage crash down on him, being banished from yet another kingdom. He had imagined being sent to execution – being abandoned in the forest so the spiders could eat him alive, or being decapitated right away. He had imagined Thranduil desperately trying to convince him how everything about the recent events had turned out not the way he had wanted, how everything about it was wrong and unreasonable. Loki had even imagined Thranduil apologizing. Had imagined him apologizing for having agreed to it, but had also imagined him apologizing for running away after.   
  
When he entered, his eyes roamed the room – the huge desk caught his gaze first, dark, wooden and richly ornamented, and behind it sitting the king.  
  
Hunched over a thick pile of parchments he was writing intently, the quill in his hand quickly jumping from side to side, and his white hair fell regally down his shoulders.  
  
An oil lamp made small shadows flit over his face, and though it was a warm light, his stern face appeared cold still.  
  
Heavy silence filled the room, only the light scratching of the quill could be heard.  
  
Soon it became the only thing Loki was able to focus on.  
  
He stood, motionless, one step into the room, and stared at the pile of papers and the jumping quill.  
  
Thranduil must have noticed him, he thought, he must have noticed him standing there glaring at him in silence. He sure was feeling the heavy look now resting on his face. He knew he was waiting there, waiting for some kind of response.  
  
Yet Thranduil would not look up.  
  
He continued his hasty writing and did not once lift his gaze off the papers.  
  
Loki had imagined all these scenarios, all these possibilities, yet he had never thought – never even considered - to be ignored completely.  
  
Complete, utter silence, except for the insufferable scratching.  
  
Slightly narrowing his eyes and straightening his back, Loki continued to stare at Thranduil’s face, expecting it to be directed at him any moment.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
The quill kept scratching and the air kept getting thicker.  
  
Loki tilted his head.  
  
“Are you not going to say something?”, he finally began, his voice coming out quieter and throatier than he had thought it would.  
  
The scratching continued.  
  
“You should not have had so much of that wine yesterday.”  
  
The icy gaze kept following the quill’s movements, and the deep voice sounded unimpressed and cold.  
  
“The wine was good”, Loki replied then. “Very much so.”  
  
Five awful seconds of silence followed.  
  
Thranduil kept writing.  
  
“Certainly, but you have had too much.”  
  
“It was, in fact, one of the finest wines I ever tasted, so why not talk about it?”  
  
Then the quill stopped.  
  
The king would, however, still not look up.  
  
“It is no good”, he then said, voice low. “It dazes your sight and makes you blind to reality.”  
  
Loki raised his brows.  
  
“Is that so.”  
  
“I suggest not to drink of it again.”  
  
The scratching started anew.  
  
“You may be right.”  
  
“I am.”  
  
Loki took a step in his direction, never quitting to pierce Thranduil’s head with his skeptical gaze.  
  
“Sounds to me like you’ve had too much wine before.”  
  
“Well”, he began, obviously more impatient now, “yesterday I have, without doubt, had too much of it.”  
  
“So you are never drinking any wine again.”  
  
The scratching stopped once more.  
  
“Rather that wine in particular. I will not… I will not drink of that wine again.”  
  
“Not ever.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
Loki could not quite believe it, while simultaneously it was a reaction he should have expected.  
  
He continued to stand there, stone still, and Thranduil continued to write, indifferently, and Loki knew no more words would be lost about this topic that day.  
  
The longer he stood there and watched, the more he began to think no more words would be lost about it ever again.  
  
And it drove him mad.  
  
There were many ways to deal with him, many different, appropriate ways to deal with a prince, and this was not one of them. Loki felt the beginnings of rage spark inside him – he was furious at how Thranduil sat there, way too arrogant and way too proud, basking in his superiority, not even feeling the need to look at his opposite while talking to him.  
  
He was still waiting at the same spot when he heard hasty footsteps approach the study. Two guards entered – after having eyed the other two paralysed guards and Loki bewilderedly – and bowed formally to greet their king, who still seemed unwilling to lift his head.  
  
“My king”, the taller one of them began nervously, “Intruders were spotted in the forest. Dwarves. Thirteen dwarves. They are armed, but they seem to have lost their way.”  
  
Instead of looking up, Thranduil took his quill, dipped it into the small bottle of ink next to him and started writing again.  
  
“Yes, I have seen them”, his voice filled the room, “Take Tauriel, Legolas and a few other guards and bring them to my halls, alive.”  
  
“My Lord, what if the spiders - “  
  
“ _Alive_ , I said.”  
  
“Of course, my Lord.”  
  
And with that, they left.  
  
Dwarves.  
  
His journey to the library appeared to be slowly coming in handy. Yes, Loki knew about dwarves, how could he not; Of all relations the elves had to the rest of Middle Earth, this relation had been the most and simultaneously the least intense one. A very strong, mutual dislike it seemed, a conflict so old Loki was sure many must have forgotten about its origin long ago. Very few facts about dwarves in general had been mentioned, and when Loki had stumbled over something dwarf-related it would always be derogatory or dismissive. It was the relation Loki had been most interested in, he remembered – he had seen pictures of dwarves, remembered how he had concluded that dwarves seemed to embody the complete opposite of elves, physically and culturally. He had found that they were not so different from the dwarves of Nidavellir.   
  
Many questions now filled Loki’s head and he tried to think of other things he had read.  
  
He knew Thranduil was involved in this quarrel between the two races, but knew better than to ask him about his exact role in it. He realized he still hadn’t moved an inch.  
  
“Why would they come to your forest?”  
  
Thranduil dipped the quill into the bottle of ink.  
  
“Nobody would voluntarily cross it if it were not for something important.”  
  
He put aside the finished parchment and continued to write on the empty one beneath.  
  
“And you are not the friendliest host either, so they are certainly not coming over because they were missing you so much-“  
  
Thranduil slammed down the quill, causing the room to go silent.  
  
Then finally, his head lifted, and Loki swore the look he wore then was his way of rolling his eyes.    
  
The elf got up, turned and walked up to Loki, passed him calmly.  
  
“Come.”  
  
And Loki followed wordlessly.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also the wine metaphor is pretty cool right???


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finally did it. as an apology, this chapter is a tiny bit longer.. thank you to all who will still read this , i'm really sorry

The tree they climbed was higher than any tree Loki had seen before. A wooden staircase wound itself round the thick trunk and came to an end at a place that reminded him of a viewing platform, permitting them to gaze over the vastnesses of almost all of Mirkwood. He felt strangely free, feeling the sun on his face and the light wind in his hair, and for a moment he was too stunned to say anything.   
  
From above, the forest looked calm and beautiful and untouched, unsoiled, but Loki knew what hid beneath the heavy layers of leaves and branches and shuddered at the thought. The air was pleasantly crisp.  
  
In the distance he saw a small town, built on the water it seemed. He knew that this was Esgaroth, or Lake Town, and he knew that the men living there had some kind of trade relationship with the elves of Mirkwood. A purely economic relationship, but peaceful still. From what he had read, men seemed to very much equal Midgardians; He wondered if it was true.  
  
Thranduil stood beside him, gaze fixed on somewhere far away.  
  
Loki scanned him. He mustered his face, expression blank, the deep red velvet his robes were made of glistened in the morning sun, flowing down his body and pooling at his feet. He had draped another silver cloth around his shoulders like a blanket and Loki was still thinking about how he had managed to climb all these steps without tripping over them when Thranduil started talking.  
  
“This mountain.”  
  
Thranduil lifted his hand calmly, almost gracefully, and pointed in the direction of the mountain he was talking about. Loki’s eyes followed the movement, and although there was a whole mountain range, he knew immediately which one exactly he was supposed to look at – it stood out not only in size, but in the way it radiated a certain sense of exceptionality; if something like that could even apply to a mountain.   
  
Something about it told him that it was a place of utter importance.  
  
“This is the Lonely Mountain, the kingdom of Erebor.”  
  
The king paused, as if expecting for a second that Loki already knew everything about it. Loki, however, remained silent.  
  
“Dwarves used to live there; It is known to contain great treasure, presumably greater than you can imagine, a treasure that the dwarves have forged and hoarded over centuries. Now, it is abandoned. A dragon attacked it long ago, it took the treasure and is now watching over it – and the dragon will watch over it as long as he lives, for there is nothing a dragon desires more than gold.”  
  
Loki kept staring at the mountain and tried to picture the dragon. He wondered whether it was of comparable size and appearance to what creatures he had faced so far, and though he tried to fight it, pictures of New York came to his mind.   
  
Thranduil’s voice interrupted his thoughts.  
  
“Thorin Oakenshield”, he began, and Loki watched his gaze darken, “Son of Thráin, son of Thrór, became king of Durin’s folk during their exile from Erebor, after his father went missing.”  
  
Loki noticed a change in his voice, in his expression, and in his mood, and he suddenly was not sure if he wished him to continue talking about Thorin Oakenshield.   
  
“I see. A king without a throne.”  
  
As soon as Loki had said it he felt his heart sink. No time to bath in self-pity, he knew.  
  
The Elvenking turned his head and looked at him. There was weariness in his eyes.  
  
“And he comes to reclaim it.”  
  
His tone was grave, the deep voice even deeper than usual, and even Loki realized what this might mean. Thirteen dwarves were on their way to reclaim a kingdom protected by a dragon. Were they hoping to defeat it? Loki tried to imagine which weapons it would take to do that.   
  
“Sounds like a noble plan to me. A mad and suicidal plan, but a noble one still.”  
  
“One might think it an honourable quest”, Thranduil began slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly, “however I do not think he does it solely because of his noble intentions, neither because he values honour above everything else. He might speak of honour and mean it, I would not know, and I would not care, but I know that his reasons for taking this long and dangerous way to that mountain are of simpler nature.”  
  
Loki said nothing, but the more he heard, the more he anticipated having Thorin Oakenshield and his company right before his eyes. There was no doubt now that Thranduil despised him deeply.  
  
“You will not let them get there”, Loki concluded, searching Thranduil’s face.  
  
Vast treasure, great wealth, riches, all these things have ensured quarrels for as long as they exist, and this wasn’t any different. Loki knew that trouble was coming for them, in whatever way – he was sure that there was no way this would end well, the only question was for whom.  
  
The elf said nothing for a short while, his gaze was once again lost somewhere in the distance.  
  
“Like you, they were roaming my forest without permission. They are on my ground. They will not pass my halls unless they agree to certain terms. Terms that I set. If they want me to do something for them, they will have to do something for me in return.”  
  
“And what would that be?”  
  
“That’s none of your business”, Thranduil replied abruptly, sounding almost offended.  
  
Loki narrowed his eyes.   
  
“I did not know I was not permitted to ask questions, your _highness_.”  
  
The king turned to face him and Loki was not surprised to find a sudden petulance in his glare.  
  
“Now you do.”   
  
His words came dangerously slow.  
  
Loki’s anger from earlier returned. He attempted to say something, but Thranduil was faster.  
  
“You know nothing of me”, he almost whispered, “as well as I know nothing of you.”  
  
“As miserable as it might sound, but you know more than most.”  
  
Thranduil’s face didn’t change. Loki had not noticed that he had approached him at some point.  
  
“Yes, not trusting me is probably the best you can do, nobody does. However, I would like to know what you expect me to do, I want to hear your thoughts on it. What do you think I’m up to? _This_ is a story I’d like to hear. Is it really the fact that you don’t know enough? The fear of the unknown? What exactly _do_ you fear, king of the Elves?”  
  
A snide grin graced Loki’s features, hiding his actual outrage.  
  
Thranduil did not interrupt him.  
  
“Tell me, what exactly is it that you want from me? I promised you there were advantages of letting me live, but that is not the only thing. My knowledge?  My powers? Well, compelling, but that does not explain why-“  
  
“Silence.”  
  
Thranduil was looking directly into Loki’s eyes, and if he would have been able to kill with his glare, Loki would have dropped dead that instant. It was a glare full of rage, indignation and frustration, a look that made Loki shiver in discomfort. A look he knew he would not want to be directed at him again.  
  
“I will not tell you what you wish to hear and should you ever attempt to talk about it again, I will not hesitate to put you back in your cell”, he hissed, eyes never leaving Loki’s.  
  
Loki pressed his lips firmly together, then let out a small chuckle.  
  
“You are no less a coward than I am.”  
  
It was his turn then to walk away wordlessly and leave Thranduil to his own puzzled thoughts.

 

  
~*~

 

  
There had not been much time for Thranduil to regain some self-control.  
  
The conversation with Loki had left him furious, yes, but a king had to set his priorities and a raven haired god from another world was definitely _no_ priority, no.  
  
Not when Thorin Oakenshield was about to arrive.   
  
He did not know where Loki had gone after their argument, and he had decided that it didn’t matter. This required his unconfined attention; There was a chance of bargaining with the dwarf, even if it was a small one. He knew that, with the right words, he might be able to persuade him into giving him what was rightfully his. He was in control, and Oakenshield was at his mercy.  
  
However his thoughts every now and then wandered back to the grin on Loki’s face, and the things he had said. He had no right to talk to Thranduil like that and over and over the king wondered why he had not reacted appropriately, why he had just stood there and had done nothing, why he had put up with it in the first place and why he had not simply pushed that man off the tree. It would have made things simpler.  
  
Instead, he had told him all these things about Erebor and Oakenshield and had actually listened long enough so it could bother him afterwards. He should have interrupted earlier, no, should not have gone there at all.  
  
On the other hand, that would have been too easy.  
  
Thranduil shifted in his throne and crossed his legs. Wooden staff in his hand.  
  
He would deal with Loki later.   
  
He heard footsteps, one of his guards hurried up the stairs.  
  
“My Lord”, he greeted, “Thorin Oakenshield is on his way. The other dwarves are locked up, as you ordered.”  
  
“Good”, Thranduil replied, and when he looked down the wooden bridge in front of him, he saw two guards, in their middle a dwarf, approaching. This would probably not be a pleasant conversation, nonetheless it was a necessary one.  
  
Moments later, he was standing right in front of him.   
  
He looked worn out, messy in his partly ripped garments, covered in cobwebs, blood and sweat. When they had first met, Thranduil had thought that it was impossible for a dwarf to look any less appealing, yet there he stood. Angry and hideous.  
  
Thranduil got to his feet and slowly descended from his throne and when he was on Oakenshield’s level, he found that he was still as tiny as he had remembered him.  
  
He knew, however, that his confidence and his pride were bigger than his size might suggest.  
  
Pacing a few steps, he walked past the dwarf and came to a stop behind him, without so much as looking at him.  
  
Except for a slight rustling Thranduil thought to be hearing, the halls were silent.  
  
“Some may imagine a noble quest is at hand. A quest to reclaim a homeland – and slay a dragon.”  
  
Thranduil turned around and looked down on the many strands of wild, black hair.  
  
“I myself suspect a more prosaic motive. Attempted burglary…or something of that ilk.”  
  
Snakelike, he came up behind Oakenshield and bent forward so he could see his face. He could play this game. This was all about intimidation and charm.  
  
Their eyes locked, azure meeting ice.   
  
“You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule. The king’s Jewel. The Arkenstone”, Thranduil said, taking a few steps back so he could face the dwarf properly. The look on Oakenshield’s face gave away his bewilderment about Thranduil knowing of his plans. Thranduil wondered whether he had really thought himself to be able to hide his plans from him at some point.  
  
Or whether he had thought Thranduil incapable of figuring it out. Annoyance started forming in his chest.   
  
“It is precious to you beyond measure, I understand that.”  
  
He grinned the falsest grin he could manage. Oakenshield had still not said a word. He quickly let his grin disappear.  
  
“There are gems in the mountain that I too desire. White gems, of pure starlight.”  
  
He suddenly felt miserable and hoped frantically it would not show. Memories started attacking his head like small, stinging knives and he tried to push them back, but he should have known, he realized. This was something he could have been prepared for, but he realized he had thought the pain to have vanished after all these years. Pathetically naive.  
  
“I offer you my help”, he spoke up, closing his eyes as if to show how calm and determined he was, when in reality he felt like he was about to burst.   
  
“I am listening”, Oakenshield almost whispered, and the small, brazen smile he wore made Thranduil want to slap it off his face.  
  
“I will let you go”, he began, struggling to stay composed, “If you but return what is mine.”  
  
“A favour for a favour.”  
  
“You have my word. One king to another.”   
  
Oakenshield had turned and walked a few steps. His silence was discomforting.  
  
“I would not trust Thranduil, the great _king_ , to honour his word, should the end of all days be upon us”, the dwarf spat and hatred dripped from his words. Thranduil summoned all his strength to fight the raging flames that threatened to spread from his chest to the rest of his body.   
  
“ _You_ , who lack all honour! I have seen how you treat your friends. We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help, but you turned your back! You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us! _Imrid amrad ursul_ \- “  
  
“Do not talk to me of dragon fire!”  
  
Thranduil had lost this battle. Heat filled his head and fury bubbled underneath his skin. How dare he raise his voice and his filthy finger at him, how dare he accuse him of things his simple wit was not able to comprehend -   
  
“I know its wrath and ruin – “  
  
Their faces were only a hand’s width apart when Thranduil felt the scar appear. A stinging ache spread on his face.   
  
“I have faced the great serpents of the North.”  
  
Relief flooded him when the scar disappeared again, along with the pain. He believed to hear a sharp intake of breath, but when he looked at Oakenshield he only saw that most of his anger had left his face and his expression had returned to being the usual grumpy.  
  
“I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon. But he would not listen”, Thranduil said, slowly starting to return to his throne. He would not hear a single word more.   
  
“You are just like him.”  
  
And with a wave of his hand, two of his guards grabbed the dwarf and began to pull him back.  
  
“Stay here, if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait.”   
  
And he waited, until they were all out of sight. The only thing that could calm him was the fact that Oakenshield was now brought where he belonged and that he would not have to see his face in a long while.   
  
When silence surrounded him again, he looked down on the stone carven floor.  
  
“Has no one ever taught you not to eavesdrop? It is highly disrespectful. Show yourself.”  
  
“I do not understand”, came a voice, and with it appearing its body. Loki’s brows furrowed.  
  
“I would have seen an illusion as well-developed as that one. I am an expert on this subject, magic and illusions are my greatest abilities. But I sensed no illusion on you.”  
  
“Because that is not how it works.”  
  
“How does it work then?”  
  
“It is an elven peculiarity.”  
  
“What did you do? Did you cast a spell? Can you decide when to show it and when to conceal it?”  
  
“I suggest you go read about it.”  
  
“No, this will not work again. Tell me what you did.”  
  
Thranduil searched Loki’s eyes. If he was faking interest, he was doing it very well. Sometimes Thranduil would forget that, if Loki really was from another world, he had to be as skeptical and curious about everything as Thranduil was. Something in Loki’s look told him that he was being honest – it was the same expression he had worn when he had asked Thranduil about other inhabitants of Middle Earth, the same spark in his eyes, and the king almost sighed when he realized he was giving in to it.  
  
“It is an indwelling spirit, we call it Feä. Occasionally it influences the Hröa, the fleshly body, mostly in situations of stress. And momentarily, I was put back into a time I would rather forget about. Would that suffice?”  
  
Loki stared at the spot where the scar had been and fascination was written on his face.  
  
“So it is not actually there?”  
  
“For me it is, and will always be”, he replied monotonously, “Whether you or anybody else will see it again, I do not know.”  
  
Thranduil started walking down the stairs of his throne again, attempting to leave because frankly, one argument with a dwarf had turned out to be exactly one too many. It was enough for that day.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
He should have known that it could not be that easy.  
  
“I have always considered myself immortal, I would outlive a mortal far more than fifty times. Still I can die a natural death, at some point. I have the feeling that your immortality works differently.”  
  
They looked at each other in silence for a few moments. Thranduil found it harder and harder not to believe Loki had really fallen into a world completely alien to him.   
  
“Elves do not die”, he then replied hesitantly, “Unless they are slain.”  
  
Loki looked as though he was thinking intensely. His lips were slightly parted like he was about to say something, yet nothing but the familiar sound of silence came from him – he stared at Thranduil’s cheek like he could make the scar reappear with only his penetrating look.  
  
The amazement in his eyes made him look younger, Thranduil realized.  
  
He was not sure at which point Loki had started listening to the conversation, whether he had heard it all from the beginning or whether he had sneaked up on them at a different point of time, and he decided that it didn’t matter. The grudge he held against Oakenshield was no secret, and knowing of his scar was nothing Loki could use against him; In fact, _he_ was concealing something also, something Thranduil was not quite sure he wanted to see or not but still something he could threaten him with in return.  
  
Something told him Loki would not turn against him, yet the fact that he did not even care to find out what exactly made him believe that scared him.   
  
A small voice in the back of his head told him that he had already given in, given in to an urge he should not have had in the first place and no matter how hard the rest of his mind tried to fight it, the voice could not be silenced completely.   
  
It was best to think that it hadn’t happened, none of it. He had not given in, and he never would.   
  
This was his only chance to cope with it. It would be the only chance to get back the safe distance, the only chance to find security. The only chance of being able to find some rest.  
  
And still there were these emerald eyes, directed at him.  
  
Thranduil suddenly remembered the way those eyes had looked, no, marveled at him only hours ago, how all mischief had left them in that moment and how exposed he had felt.  
  
The sound of Loki shifting his weight brought him back to reality.  
  
“What are you going to do about it?”  
  
“There is nothing I can do about the scar.”  
  
“I mean the dwarves. You cannot lock them here forever.”  
  
Thranduil lifted his brows.  
  
“Of course I can”, he said calmly, “if they are unwilling to cooperate, they have to live with being locked up here for as long as I please. Oakenshield had a choice, and this is the choice he decided to make.”  
  
“He said you did not help them when they were in need. He said you – “  
  
“I am well aware of what he said. Tell me, what do you think does it take to kill a dragon?”  
  
Loki looked startled for a second, ready to argue, but no words left him.  
  
“There is exactly one weapon able to seriously harm or kill a dragon. A weapon the dwarves do not possess. A weapon _I_ do not possess. No army could kill a dragon without this weapon, neither mine, nor his, nor mine and his aligned, and I knew this the day the dragon attacked Erebor. I came, I saw what was happening, I left, because the dragon would have taken life after life just to sit on a vast pile of gold without a single scratch on his thick shell in the end. I decided not to risk the lives of my people for the sake of a greedy dwarf and I would make this choice over and over again.”  
  
Thranduil tried to stay calm, even though this topic in particular would always make it hard for him.  
  
“They will go to the mountain, and they will wake the dragon”, he continued, “and they will bring misery and death upon others in their desire for vengeance and glory.”  
  
“Oh, do not pretend this is about others.”  
  
Loki’s expression was suddenly full of suspect and irritation.   
  
“I understand everything you say. A true king you are, indeed, so wise and diplomatic. But this, this is about _you_. You want those gems. You won’t let Oakenshield go because you cannot stand him. _You_ do as _you_ please, the first thing you consider is _your_ advantage. You _leave_ when you think it’s best for you- “  
  
“And who are _you_ to tell me that?”  
  
They were almost face to face. Thranduil’s fury was no longer hidden, and his control over the situation had slipped. He felt his hands shaking, so he clenched them into fists until it hurt.   
  
“If you are so fond of the dwarves, you may just as well keep them company in the dungeons “, he hissed. Loki looked rather feisty than intimidated, yet he said nothing.  
  
“You might have forgotten”, Thranduil whispered, voice low and trembling, “You are no king. Neither here nor elsewhere. Do not tell me what to do.”  
  
He could see Loki’s eyes widen and for a second, he feared he might jump or yell at him, but nothing happened; And the silence, Thranduil realized, was worse.  
  
The brows in front of him narrowed quickly, the momentary hurt turned into something he could not read. An uneasy feeling flooded him.  
  
Loki then turned abruptly and hurried down the wooden bridge, left without another word like he had done earlier.  
  
Only that this time, Thranduil knew he should have been more careful.


End file.
